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CERVANTES. 



Wit and Wisdom 



OF 



Don Quixote. 






Patch grief with proverbs. — Shakespeare. 









No. 



/Fi43 "'■ 



'f3? 









BOSTON: 

ROBERTS BROTHERS. 

1882. 






,K' 



Copyright, 1S82, 

By Roberts Brothers. 



University Press: 
John Wilson and Son, Cambridge. 



INDEX. 



Abadexo, 9. 

Adam, the first head scratched, 168. 

Adventure of the dead body, 51. 

Adventures of Esplandian, 17. 

Alamos of Medina del Campo, 199. 

Aldermen, the braying-, 169. 

Altisidora, songs of, 219, 265. 

Amadis de Gaul, 4, 17. 

Amadis de Greece, 19. 

Arms, the honorable profession of, 173. 

Araucana, 24. 

Austriada, 24. 

Bacallao, 9. 

Barabbas, wife for, 115. 

Barataria, the island of, 222, 223, 250. 

Barber's basin, taken for Mambrino's helmet, 58. 

Basilius the Poor, adventure of, 147. 

Belfreys and palfreys much the same, 125. 

Boar hunt, the, 182. 

Bray, town of, 172. 

Cane, the hollow, 227. 

Carrasco, views upon critics, 109 ; made executor, 286. 
Chrysostom, story of, 37; interment of, 41; song of, 45; 
epitaph upon, 49. 



Yin INDEX. 

Clavileno, flight of, 203. 

Comedy, adherence to the "unities necessary, 89. 

Countryman, the tale of, 239. 

Critic, not cricket, 163. 

Cuenza, cloth of, 180. 

Cupid's address at wedding of Quiteria, 153. 

Curadiilo, 9. 

Cure of jealousy, 22. 

Dapple, 181, 182, 184, 197. 

Darinel, 18. 

Dead body, adventure of, 51. 

Death, Sancho's views on, 165. 

Description of a lady, 33. 

Diana, the, of Montemayor, 21, 22. 

Disenchantment of Dulcinea, 187, 196. 

Don Bellionis, 20. 

Don Diego de Miranda, 20. 

Don Galaor, serving no especial mistress, 30. 

Don Olivante de Laura, 18. 

Don Kyrie Eleison of Montalvan, 21. 

Don Quixote, income of, 1 ; family of, 1 ; age of, 1 ; fancies 
of, 2 ; his armor, 2 ; his steed, 3 ; begins his adventures, 5 ; 
arrival at i/in, 6 ; seeks knighthood, 10 ; w r atches his 
armor, 13; is knighted, 14; his self-confidence, 16; his 
library destroyed, 16, 25; his squire, 25; extolls the 
Golden Age, 29 ; his requisites for a knight-errant, C5 ; 
at the interment of Chrysostom, 41 ; his adventure with 
a dead body, 51 ; captures Mambrino's helmet, 56 ; per- 
forms penance, 63 ; his views of knight-errantry, 76, 82 ; 
receives a visit from the lady Dulcinea, 126 ; adventure 
with the lions, 133; attends the wedding of Quiteria the 
Fair, 147; a "sensible madman," 197; counsels Sancho, 
203, 210, 225; his views upon poetry, 131 ; of love, 161; 



INDEX. ix 

of marriage, 162 ; upon long finger-nails, 211 ; of prov- 
erbs, 212 ; converses with an author, 273 ; returns home, 
282 ; his will, 284, 285 ; his death, 2S7 ; epitaph upon, 288. 

Duke and Duchess, the, 181, 

Dulcinea, described by Don Quixote, 37 ; letters to, 65 ; 
lines to, 66 ; disenchantment of, 187, 196 ; lines to, 66 ; 
sonnet to, 90. 

Earldom, Sancho's views of the management of one, 91. 

El Cancionero, 23. 

Enchanter's errand, the, 188. 

Epitaphs on Don Quixote, 96, 98, 288. 

Epitaphs on Dulcinea, 99. 

Ermine, a modest women compared to one, 73. 

Fabila, the fate of, 184. 
Fish Nicholas, 143 
Elorismarte of Hyrcania, 18. 
Eort, Sonnet on the, 84. 
Frasso, Antonio de lo, 22. 
Friendship, sonnet to, 69. 

Galatea of Cervantes, 24. 

Genealogies reduced to four kinds, 119. 

Gil Polo, 22. 

Golden Age, panegyric upon the, 29. 

Goleta, sonnet upon the, 83. 

Governor's round of inspection, 245. 

Gratitude a duty, 61. 

Heaven, death by the hand of, demands patience, 55. 
Herdsmen, the purse of the, 199. 
Herradura, the, 199. 



x INDEX. 

Industry tranquillizing, 281. 
Instructions for government of island, 203-210. 
Island of Sancho Panza, promise of, 25, 26 ; possession taken 
of, 222, 223. 

Julius Caesar, anecdote of, 174. 

Knighted, Don Quixote, 14. 

Knight-errant, the, without a mistress, 4, 36, 177 ; food of, 
28 ; impiety of, 35 ; defence of, 35 ; hunger of, 71 ; com- 
pared to the courtier-knight, 118 ; extolled, 141 ; compared 
to the saints, 122, 123 ; his need of money never re- 
corded, 12. 

Knight-errantry, the surpassing excellence of, 76 ; compared 
to the life of a scholar or soldier, 78, 79 ; science of, 142. 

Knighthood, ceremonies of, 14, 15. 

Knight of the Cross, 19. 

Knight Platir, 19. 

Knight, the, reproved, 198 ; if poor, his rank is manifested 
by his virtues, 128. 

Lace-bone, 263. 

Lace worn in Purgatory, 281. 

La Mancha, 1, 95, 288. 

Lanzarote, romance of, 8. 

Learning of Sancho Panza, 28, 205. 

Letters, from Don Quixote, 255 ; from the Duchess, 251 ; 
from the Duke, 237 ; from Sancho, 196, 258 ; from Te- 
resa, 261. 

Library of Don Quixote destroyed, 16. 

Licentiate, story of, 100. 

Lions, adventure with, 133. 

Lucifer, the first tumbler, 168. 



INDEX. 

Mambrino's helmet 56. 

Manuscript discovered in Saragossa, 95. 

Marcela, cruelty of, 33, 37, 39. 

Marriage of Camacho the Rich, 147. 

Mateo Boyardo, 19. 

Merlin, 188-190. 

Miraguardia, castle of, 20. 

Mirror of chivalry. 19. , 

Molinera buckles the spurs, 15. 

Monteil, plains of, 26. 

Monsurato, 24. 

Montesinos, care of, 181. 

Nymphs of Enares, 23. 

Olalia, poem to, 31. 
Oran, general of, 133. 

Palinurus, 84. 

Panza, Sancho, vide Sancho Panza. 

Panza, Teresa, vide Teresa Panza. 

Parley about the penance, 189. 

Pastor Fido, 274. 

Penance, a pleasing, 65. 

Penance of Don Quixote, 6S. 

Poem addressed to Dulcinea, 06. 

Poem addressed to Olalia, 31. 

Poetry, views of Don Quixote upon, 131 

Praise of poverty. 217. 

Proverbs. See Index to Proverbs. 

Proverbs, Don Quixote's dislike of, 186, 212, 215, 216 

Proverbs of Sancho Panza, 212. 

Py ramus and Thisbe, story of, 145. 



xn INDEX. 

Queen Pintiquinestra, 18. 

Quexana, Antonia, heiress of Don Quixote, 286. 

Quixote, Don, vide Don Quixote. 

Quiteria, the Fair, 147. 

Retention, definition of, 63. 

Rosinante, named, 3; encomiums upon, 7; sonnet to, 97, 
124. 

Saints and knights-errant compared, 123. 

Sancha Mary, a match for her considered, 113-115. 

Sanchica, 263. 

Sancho Panza, becomes a squire, 25 ; counselled to ambition, 
27; defines retention, 63 ; love to God, 71 ; his .views upon 
administration, 91 ; is received by his wife, 93; plain speak- 
ing of, 105 ; conditions of his service, 110 ; self-confidence 
of, 111; rejoicing at rejoining Don Quixote, 112; home- 
comings of, 117 ; at the wedding of Quiteria, 147 ; views 
upon death, 165 ; upon penance, 189, 196 ; upon sleep, 277 ; 
his conundrum, 168 ; description of, 168 ; plight of, 181 ; 
at the boar hunt, 183 ; submits to penance, 195 ; govern- 
ment of, 197 ; official dress of, 205 ; learning of, 28, 205 ; 
proverbs of, 212 ; receives advice, 213 ; assumes the gov- 
ernorship, 222 ; encounter with the doctor, 233; advises 
the countryman, 239; makes a round of inspection, 245; 
returns home, 282. 

Saragossa, 95. 

Scholars, sufferings of, 78, 79. 

Serenade, a, 218. 

Seville, story of lunatic of, 100. 

Shepherd of Iberia, 23, 

Shepherd of Filida, 23. 

Sleep, Sancho's views upon, 277. 

Soldier, sufferings of the, 79, 80. 



INDEX. xui 

Tailor, the secret of a, 224. 

Tasters, story of, 129. 

Tears of St. Peter, 72. 

Tembleque, 200. 

Teresa Panza, receives Sancho, 93; counsels him, 114; her 

good sense, 116; receives the page, 249; writes Sancho, 

261. 
Tirante the White, 21. 
Tolosa, girds on sword of Don Quixote, 14. 
Truchuela, 9. 
Truth, the mother of history, 29. 

Wife, but one good, 160. 

Zamora, a bagpipe, 152. 



INDEX TO PROVERBS. 



Actions, when prejudicial, not to be recorded, 106. 

Advice, a woman's, to be taken, 120. 

Affront, an, to be maintained, 177. 

Animals, lessons to be learned from, 127. 

Analysis of fables, 87. 

Army, the, a school for generosity, 82. 

Associates, character indicated by self-chosen ones, 124. 

Beauty, all does not inspire to love, 49. 
Beauty in a modest woman, 49. 
Beautiful objects infinite, 49. 
Benefits conferred on the base, 61. 
Bird, a, in the hand, 71, 120, 127, 282. 
Birds, none in last year's nests, 218. 
Biters, the, are bit, 245 
Book, good in every, 109. 
Books, no, no bacon, 124. 
Brevity pleasing, 60. 
Building on impossibilities, 74. 
By-and-by, the streets of, 162. 

Cats, by night all are gray, 180. 

Church, the, the court, the sea, 83. 

Clergyman, a, what he should be to be beloved, 33. 

Companions, a man known by his, 124. 



INDEX TO PROVERBS. 

Comparisons offensive, 104. 

Course, the middle, the one of valor, 104. 

Customs not all invented at once, 6. 

Death, a remedy for everything but, 210. 
Delay breeds danger, 86, 281. 
Devil, the, assumes an angel form, 74. 
Diligence, the mother of success, 86. 
Disquietude designed for knights, 34. 
Drinker, a good, covered by a bad cloak, 186. 

Enemy, an, the merits of his cause, 209. 

Epics, prose, 88. 

Ermine, an, a modest woman compared to, 73. 

Fables, analysis of, 87. 

Fast bind, fast find, 120. 

Fear, the effect of, 49. 

Fiction, better as it resembles truth, 87. 

Finger, a, between two eye-teeth, 215. 

Flattery, the sway of, 145. 

Forewarned, forearmed, 132. 

Fortune, good, seldom comes single, 83. 

Fortune like a mill-wheel, 87. 

Friend, a, consolation, 62. 

Frying-pan, out of, 50. 

God's mercy more glorious than His justice, 210. 

Good in every book, 109. 

Gold, all that glitters is not, 244. 

Governing pleasant, 203. 

Gratitude, a compensation, 271 ; a duty, 61. 

Grievance, no, can keep the sufferer from kindness, 70. 



INDEX TO PROVEKL 

Handle, the right one of things, 56. 

Happiness as r-:ck :::e:l \.y sagr-. ioO. 

History, i.vkkfal. vrkl survive. 2-l>. 
Holy '.lays to ke kep: reajcfuily. 122. 

:k:ent. 74. 
Host. to re:k::: v.kti. 

:;:;:-: : 1 :- 5. :■".:=.:_ :-r: v.: - . " .". . 

m 

Jest, a pair.:-.;:, n: jrst. 272. 
: for. 123. 

: ssion; 209. 

King, serving the. in war. 17o. 

Knigkts. all. :::■: co- US. 

Lance, the. never blunted the ren. 40. 
Learned men among mountains. 

Leap. a. better :i.an : 

Lirerty. ike blessiags -f. 2. 
Light, the, shines npon a 11. 245 

ages, two kinds of, 60. 
Liver, the good, the best preacher, 166. 
Lore, a leveller, 29. 

the eyes c :. 70. 
Love, a: unstrained, 49. 
Love . \ 

" :.v f.l,-k:. 74. 
Love so? 76 

Love, wears spectacles. 163. 
L: vers, external a. . 124. 



TXDEX TO PROVERBS. xvii 



Madness, the followers of, 129. 

Maiden, a, her reserve her defence, 104. 

Many littles make a mickle, 121. 

Man, a dishonored, 71. 

Manners, good, cheap, 202. 

Master, a, judged by his servants, 176. 

Mayor, he whose father is a, 214. 

Might overcomes, 86. 

Mischance, one, invites another, 70. 

Misfortunes never single, 70. 

Money willingly lent to officials, 118. 

Music, the effect of, 70. 

Nail, a, in Fortune's wheel, 162. 
Nature is like a potter, 176. 
Nobility, true, 76. 

Pains, those of others are easy to bear, 176. 
Patience, and shuffle the cards, 168. 
Paymaster, a good, needs no security, 176. 
Peace, no, in scruples of conscience, 104. 
Philosophers in cottages, 93. 
Purpose, the honest, favored, 76. 

Eailing is neighbor to forgiveness, 281. 

Remedy, a, for everything but death, 210. 

Retreat sometimes wise, 61. 

Riches, two roads to, 120. 

Riches, of little avail against trouble, 62. 

Rome, when in, 264. 

Rules for obtaining excellence, 62. 

Seeing is believing, 128. 
Severity is not disdain, 50. 



XVI u IK VEX TO PROVERBS. 

Sleep, a cure for trouble, 230. 
Soldier, a covetous, a monster, 82. 
Soldier, equal to a captain, 34. 
Song, the relief of, 61. 
Sorrow, concealed, 73. 
Sorrow, a blessing, 128. 

Tiling, a, begun is half finished, 202. 
Thing, a, the right handle of, 56. 
To-day here, to-morrow gone, 121. 
Tongues as weapons, 177. 
Tricks of a town, 86. 
Truffles, to look for, in the sea, 106. 
Truth, the mother of history, 29. 
Truth may bend, 124. 

Virtue more persecuted than beloved, 86. 

Walls have ears, 244. 

Wealth, its gratification is a right application, 119. 

Wise, a word to the, 202. 

Wit and humor, attributes of genius, 108. 

Woman, varieties of, 70. 

Woman, the burden to which she is born, 118. 

Woman, her advice, to be taken, 120. 

Yes or no of a woman, between the, 162. 




DON QUIXOTE. 



CERVANTES. 

A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. 

The most trivial act of the daily life of some men 
has a unique interest, independent of idle curiosity, 
which dissatisfies us with the meagre food of date, 
place, and pedigree. So in the " Cartas de Indias " 
was published, two years ago, in Spain, a facsimile, 
letter from Cervantes when tax-gatherer to Philip II., 
informing-him of the efforts he had made to collect the 
taxes in certain Andalusian villages. 

It is difficult, from the slight social record that we 
have of Cervantes, to draw the line where imagination 
begins and facts end. 

Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra, the contemporary of 
Shakspeare, Galileo, Camoens, Rubens, Tasso, and 
Lope de Vega, was born obscurely and in poverty, but 
with good antecedents. His grandfather, Juan de Cer- 
vantes, was the corregidor, or mayor, of Ossuna, and 
our poet was the youngest son of Rodrigo and Leonora 
de Cortifios, of the Barajas family. On either side he 
belonged to illustrious houses. He speaks of his birth- 



xxii CERVANTES. 

place as the "famous Henares," — " Alcala de Henares," 
sometimes called Alcala de San Justo, from the saint 
San Justo having there suffered martyrdom under the 
traitor Daciamos. The town is beautifully situated on 
the borders of the Henares River, two thousand feet 
above the level of the sea. 

He was born on Sunday, October 9, 1547, and .was 
baptized in the church of Santa Maria la Mayor, re- 
ceiving his name on the fete day of his patron Saint 
Miguel, which some biographers have confounded with 
that of his birthday. 

We may be forgiven for a few words about Alcala de 
Henares, since, had it only produced so rare a man as 
was Cervantes, it would have had sufficient distinc- 
tion ; but it was a town of an eventful historical record. 
It was destroyed about the year 1000, and rebuilt and 
possessed by the Moors \ was afterwards conquered by 
Bernardo, Archbishop of Toledo. Three hundred years 
later it was the favorite retreat of Ximenes, then Car- 
dinal Archbishop of Toledo, who returned to it, after 
his splendid conquests, laden with gold and silver spoil 
taken from the mosques of Oran, and- with a far richer 
treasure of precious Arabian manuscripts, intended for 
such a university as had long been his ambition .to 
create, and the corner-stone of which he laid with his 
own hands in 1500. There was a very solemn ceremo- 
nial at the founding of this famous university, and a 



A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xxm 

hiding away of coins and inscriptions under its massive 
walls, and a pious invocation to Heaven for a special 
blessing on the archbishop's design ! At the end of 
eight years the extensive and splendid buildings were 
finished and the whole town improved. With the 
quickening of literary labor and the increase of oppor- 
tunities of acquiring knowledge, the reputation of the 
university was of the highest. 

The cardinal's comprehensive mind included in its 
professorships all that he considered useful in the arts. 
Emulation was encouraged, and every effort was made 
to draw talent from obscurity. To this enlightened 
ecclesiastic is the world indebted for the undertaking 
of the Polyglot Bible, which, in connection with other 
learned works, led the university to be spoken of as 
one of the greatest educational establishments in the 
world. From far and near were people drawn to it. 
King Ferdinand paid homage to his subject's noble 
testimonial of labor, by visiting the cardinal at Alcala 
de Henares, and acknowledging that his own reign had 
received both benefit and glory from it. The people of 
Alcala punningly said, the church of Toledo had never 
had a bishop of greater edification than Ximenes ; and 
Erasmus, in a letter to his friend Yergara, perpetrates 
a Greek pun on the classic name of Alcala, intimating 
the highest opinion of the state of science there. The 
reclining statue of Ximenes, beautifully carved in ala- 



xxiv CERVANTES. 

baster, now ornaments his sepulchre in the College of 
St. Ildefonso. 

Cervantes shared the honor of the birthplace with the 
Emperor Ferdinand; he of ''blessed memory," who 
failed to obtain permission from the Pope for priests 
to marry, but who, in spite of turbulent times, main- 
tained religious peace in Germam , and lived to see the 
closing of the Council of Trent, marking his reign as 
one of the most enlightened of the age. 

Alcala also claims Antonio de Solis, the well-known 
historian, whose " Conquest of Mexico " has been trans- 
lated into many languages, as well as Teodora de Beza, 
a zealous Calvinistic reformer and famous divine, a 
sharer of Calvin's labors in Switzerland and author 
of the celebrated manuscripts known as Beza's. manu- 
scripts. 

Judging from the character of the town and the 
refining educational influence that so grand a univer- 
sity must have had over its inhabitants, we have a 
right to believe that Cervantes was early imbued with 
all that was noble and good, and it is difficult to under- 
stand why, with all the advantages which the College 
of St. Ildefonso opened to him, he should have been 
sent away from it to that of Salamanca- Even allow- 
ing that the supposition of early poverty was correct, it 
would have appeared an additional reason for his being 
educated in his native town, particularly as liberal foun- 



A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH, xxv 

dations were made for indigent students. The fact of 
his being sent to Salamanca would seem to disprove the 
supposition of pecuniary necessity. In its early days, 
the university of Salamanca was justly celebrated for 
its progress in astronomy and familiarity with Greek 
and Arabian writers; but, during the fifteenth, and six- 
teenth centuries, it seems to have remained very sta- 
tionary, little attention being paid to aught beside 
medicine and dogmatic theology. 

After being two years at Salamanca he changed to 
Madrid, where he is supposed to hare made great 
progress, under the care of Juan Lopez de Hoyos, a 
professor of belles lettres, who spoke of Cervantes as 
"oar dear and beloved pupil.-' Hoyos was himself 
a poet, and occasionally published collections to which 
Cervantes contributed his pastoral " Filena," which 
was much admired at the time. He also wrote several 
ballads : but ballads generally belong to their own age, 
and those that remain to us of his have lost much of 
their poignancy. Two poems, written on the death 
of Isabella of Valois, wife of Philip II., specially pleased 
Hoyos. who at the time gave full credit to his promising 
pupil. That eighth wonder of the world, the Escurial, 
was in progress during Cervantes' time in Madrid: built J 
as expiatory by the king, the husband of the same 
unfortunate Isabella. He was that subtle tyrant of 
Spain, who had the grace to say. on the destruction 



xxvi CERVANTES. 

of the Invincible Armada, " I sent my fleet to combat 
with the English, not with the elements. God's will 
be done." 

While he was yet a boy 5 bull-fights were introduced 
into Spain : — 

" Such the ungentle sport that oft invites . 
The Spanish maid, and cheers the Spanish swain, 
Nurtured in blood betimes, his heart delights 
In vengeance, gloating on another's pain." 

The attention of the Cardinal Acquaviva was called 
to him through his composition of " Filena," and, in 
1568 or 1569, he joined the household of the cardinal 
and accompanied him to Rome. It is sad to think that 
only a few meagre items are all that remain to tell us 
of his daily life at this important period of his life. 
By some of his biographers he is mentioned as being 
under the protection of the cardinal ; by one as seeking 
to better his penniless condition ; by another as having 
the place of valet de cliambre ; and still again, we find 
him mentioned as a chamberlain in the household. 
Monsignor Guiiio Acquaviva, in 1568, went as ambas- 
sador to Spain to offer the king the condolences of the 
Pontiff on the death of Don Carlos. The cardinal was 
a man of high position, young, yet of great accomplish- 
ments, and with cultivated literary tastes. What then 
could have been more natural than that he should have 



A BIOGRAPHICAL- SKETCH. xxvil 

found companionship in Cervantes, and have desired to 
attach him to himself as a friend or as a confidential 
secretary, to be always near him. It is more than prob- 
able that his impressions of Southern France, which 
lie immortalized in his early pastoral romance of " Gala- 
tea" were imbibed while making the journey to Home 
with the cardinal, in whose service he must have re- 
mained three years, as in October 7, 1571, we find him 
joining the united Venetian, Papal, and Spanish expe- 
dition commanded by Don John of Austria, against 
the Turks and the African corsairs. 

In the naval engagement at Lepanto, Cervantes was 
badly wounded, and finally lost his left hand and part 
of the arm. For six months he was immured in the 
hospital at Messina. After his recovery, he joined the 
expedition to the Levant, commanded by Marco Anto- 
nio Colonna, Duke of Valiano. He joined at intervals 
various other expeditions, and not till after his promi- 
nence in the engagement at Tunis, did he, in 1575, 
start to return to Spain, the land of his heart, the theme 
of the poet, and the region supposed by the Moors to 
have dropped from heaven. Don John of Austria and 
Don Carlos of Arragon, Viceroy of Sicily, each bore 
the warmest testimony to the bravery and heroism of 
our poet, and each gave him strong letters of commen- 
dation to the king of Spain. 

In company with his own brother Roderigo, and other 



XXTin CERVANTES. 

wounded soldiers who were returning home, he started 

in the ship El SoL which had the misfortune, Septem- 
ber 26, 1575. to be captured by an Algerine squadron. 
Then it happened that the letters from the two kings. 
so highly prized and upon which he had built so many 
hopes, proved a great misfortune to him. The pirates 
cast lots for the captives. Cervantes fell to the share 
of the captain. Dali Mami by name, who. in conse- 
quence of finding these two letters, imagined he must 
be some Don of great importance and worth a heavy 
ransom. He was watched and guarded with great 
strictness, loaded with heavy fetters, and subjected to 
cruelties of every kind, till his captor, not finding 
him of so much account as he had supposed, and 
no money being offered for his ransom, the captain 
finally sold him for five hundred escudos to the Dey 
Azan. 

Inasmuch as a change might lead to something better, 
Cervantes rejoiced. His gallant spirit, ever hopeful. 
looked for the open door in misfortune. But. alas ! 
his increased sufferings with the Dey reached a climax 
almost beyond endurance. He made every struggle to 
escape : but even in the midst of all his own sufferings. 
he found ways of aiding his fellow-victims and inspir- 
ing them with the hopes denied to himself. Roderigo 
had escaped lono- before, and from that time was making 
constant exertion to raise the needful amount to redeem 



A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xxix 

Miguel from the Dey, but not till September, 15S0. did 
he succeed in effecting his release ; some biographers 
making it a still later date. 

His father had long been dead, and his mother and* 
sisters gathered what they could, but the combined 
family efforts were insufficient. There was a society 
of pious and generous monks, who made special exer- 
tions to assist in the liberation of Christian captives, 
and they finally made up the amount demanded by Azan 
for Cervantes' release. 

Worn down in spirit, broken in health, crushed at 
heart, who may venture to speak of the effect upon him 
when he once more found himself at home and in the 
embraces of his family? He himself says: ; 'What 
transport in life can equal that which a man feels on 
the restoration of his liberty ? " There is probably no 
more thrilling or exact an account of the Algerine 
slavery than he has given in " Don Quixote." Whether 
his love for a military life still pursued him, whether 
he desired an opportunity for revenge upon his perse- 
cutors, or whether it was fatality. — maimed and ruined 
as he was he once more entered the army. We cannot 
analyze his motive. He makes his bachelor Sampson 
say. •• The historian must pen things not as they ought 
to have been but as they really were, without adding to 
or diminishing aught from the truth." The lives of 
literary men are not always devoid of stirring incidents. 



xxx CERVANTES. 

M. Yiardot says of him : i: Cervantes was an illustrious 
man before he became an illustrious author ; the doer 
of great deeds before he produced an immortal book." 
Don Lope de Figueras then commanded a regiment of 
tried and veteran soldiers in the army of the Duke of 
Alva, in Portugal. His brother Roderigo was serving- 
in it when, he joined it; and as Figueras had known 
Cervantes in former campaigns, it is most probable he 
was in his regiment. Later on. we find Cervantes ac- 
companying the Marquis de Santa Cruz on an expedi- 
tion to the Azores, serving long and bravely under him. 
The conquest of the Azores is described as a fiercely 
won but brilliant victory over all the islands : and Cer- 
vantes immortalized the genius and gallantry of the 
admiral in a sonnet. 

The spirit of adventure ran high among the Castil- 
ians, while the whole nation was at the same time in 
course of mental as well as moral development. We 
are obliged to acknowledge that Spain in many ways 
was far behind Italy, though hardly as some would have 
it, at the distance of half a century. We must remem- 
ber that, in 1530, there were only two hundred printing- 
presses in the whole of Europe, and that when the first 
one was set np in London, the Westminster abbot ex- 
claimed, " Brethren, this is a tremendous engine ! We 
must contjol it, or it will conquer us." The first press 
in Spain was set up in Valencia, in 1474, and Clemen- 



A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xxxi 

cin says that more printing-presses in the infancy of 
the art were probably at work in Spain than there are 
at the present day. 

A change seemed to have crept gradually over the 
whole national character of Spain after the brilliant 
and prosperous reign of Ferdinand and Isabella, com- 
mencing with the severity of the Inquisition and con- 
tinuing under the tyranny of Philip II., predisposing 
the army to savage deeds, till even the women and 
children were infected and the literature of the period 
slightly tinged. 

Cervantes is too often merged into Don Quixote as 
if he had no separate existence. He accomplished more 
for the improvement of Spanish literature with his well- 
timed satire than all the laws or sermons could effect. 
His remarkable mind seems to have escaped the influ- 
ence of the times, unless we make an exception of his 
drama " Numancia," which , while it excites the imagina- 
tion, fills us with horror at its details, and fails to touch 
our hearts, but is full of historical truths. Schlegel, 
however, reviews it with enthusiasm. He calls his 
" Life in Algiers " a comedy, but undoubtedly it is a 
true picture of his own captivity. We are touched and 
filled with gloom at its perusal, and only remember it 
as a tragedy. These two dramas were lost sight of till 
the end of the eighteenth century, and they are superior 
to later dramatic efforts. He was proud of his original 






xxxn CERVANTES. 

conception of a tragedy composed of ideal and allegorical 
characters which he permitted to have part in the " Life 
in Algiers/' as well as in " Numancia." Of the thirty 
plays spoken of as given to the stage but few now 
remain ; but others may yet be found. The Spaniards 
say the faults of a great writer are not left in the ink- 
stand. Spain, in Cervantes' day, had passed the chival- 
ric age, though many relics of it still remained in its 
legends, songs, and proverbs. Cervantes becomes his 
own critic in his " Supplement to a Journey to Par- 
nassus," and speaking of his dramas, says : " I should 
declare them worthy the favor they have received were 
they not my own." Unfortunately, his comedy of " La 
Confusa " is among the lost ones. He alludes to it as 
a good one among the best. 

We have known Cervantes as a student, a soldier, a 
captive, and an author, and now we have to imagine 
our maimed and bronzed soldier-poet, after his many 
fortunes of war, in the new character of a lover. In 
thought we trace his noble features, his intelligent look 
and expressive eye, combined with his dignified bearing 
and thoughtful manner, and in so tracing we find it 
congenial to imagine him as being well dressed and 
enveloped in the ample Spanish cloak thrown gracefully 
over his breast and left shoulder, concealing the poor 
mutilated arm, and at the same time making it all the 
more difficult to believe that the right one had ever 



A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xxxiii 

wielded a " Toledo blade " or sworn that very strongest 
vow of loyalty, " A fe de Rodrigo." 2 

We find him much interested in the quaint old-fash- 
ioned town of Esquivias, making many friends therein, 
and sometimes gossiping with the host of the fonda, 
so famed for the generous wines of Esquivias that it 
needed no * ; bush ; " and while enjoying his cigarito and 
taking an occasional morsel from the dish' of quisado 
before him, he is learning from the same gossiping host 
many items of interest about the very illustrious fami- 
lies of Esquivias, — for it was famed for its chivalrous 
prowess and its " claims of long descent." He had 
commenced his " Galatea," and in it he was painting 
living portraits, and with great delicacy he was, as the 
shepherd Elicio, portraying his passion for Catalina, the 
daughter of Fernando de Salazar y Voxmediano and 
Catalina de Palacios, both of illustrious families. Her 
father was dead, and she had been educated by her 
uncle, Francisco de Salazar, who left her a legacy in 
his will. 

The fair Catalina, like other Spanish seiioritas, was 
under the espionage of a strict duena, and his opportu- 
nities of seeing her were very limited. Sometimes we 
fancy him awaiting the passing of -the hour of the siesta 
and knocking at the grating of the heavy door of the 
house of the Salazars, and in reply to the porter's ques- 

1 Rodrigo de Bivar, or the Cid, the national champion of Spain. 



xxxiv CEEVAXTES. 

tion of Quien es? answering, in his melodious tones, 
Gente de paz (literally, "a friend"), — a precaution 
which still continues in Spain. Meanwhile, his romance 
of 4; Galatea" and of his own life are both growing. 
The occasion inspires him. He is still in Esquivias, 
wandering through the olive groves and by the river 
side, sometimes resting, and drinking in the fragrance 
from an orange-tree while his untold wealth -of brain 
was seeking for its exit. Sometimes he had Catalina 
for a companion, the duena lingering slightly behind. 
Sometimes he saw her at the church like a fair saint, 
kneeling ; but oftener he wandered alone with his now 
happy thoughts, scarce knowing that the night was 
closing about him, or scarce heeding the watchman who 
cried, " All hail, Mary, mother of Jesus ! half past 
twelve o'clock and a cloudy morning ! " and thus, to 
this day, are the Spaniards warned of the hour and 
the weather. His " Galatea " remains unfinished. He 
had not meant that all this song should be for tbe public 
ear. The end was for his love alone ! 

On the 12th of December, 1581, he was married to 
Catalina. Xot many years ago, the marriage contract 
was found in the public registry of Esquivias. It 
contains an inventory of the marriage-dowry promised 
by the bride's mother, of "lands, furniture, utensils, 
and live-stock." Then follows the details, " several 
vineyards, amounting to twelve acres, beds, chairs. 



A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xxxv 

brooms, brushes, poultry, and sundry sacks of flour." 
It is spoken of as a very respectable dowry at a time 
when sacks of wheat were worth eight reals. Then fol- 
lows, in the same document, his own settlement upon 
his wife, which is stated to be one hundred ducats. By 
the custom of the time that was one-tenth of his whole 
property, or to quote again, which "must have amounted 
to a thousand ducats, which at present would be equiva- 
lent to about four hundred and fifty pounds sterling." 
Gladly would we find some pleasant items of happy 
home life, though, for the next four years, he lived 
quietly at Esquivias, and cared for the vineyards like 
any landholder, till, perhaps, he tired and went on to 
Seville, where he took up some mercantile business, 
though never entirely giving up the pen; but from 1593 
till 1605, there are no real traces of him, when it would 
appear that he had removed to Yalladolid. 

There is little doubt but that he suffered both in purse 
and feeling from want of appreciation ; but the Spanish 
proverb says, " An author's work who looks to money 
is the coat of a tailor who works late on the vespers of 
Easter Sunday." He had too noble a mind to harbor 
so mean a sentiment as jealousy, and was far in advance 
of his age. His countrymen, with characteristic indo- 
lence, were ready to cry, manana, manaha (to-morrow, 
to-morrow), and so it was left for later generations to 
honor his memory, for his power of invention and pu- 



xxxvi CER VAN TEE. 

rity of imagination can never be rivalled. While acting 
as clerk in Seville to Antonio de Guevara, the Commis- 
sary-General to the Indian and American dependencies, 
he must have been sadly disappointed, particularly as, 
during that time, he had been unjustly thrown into 
prison on the plea of not accounting for trust-money 
with satisfaction. Mr. Ticknor gives the following 
interesting account : " During his residence at Seville, 
Cervantes made an ineffectual application to the king 
for an appointment in America, setting forth by the 
exact documents a general account of his adven- 
tures, services, and sufferings while a soldier in the 
Levant, and of the miseries of his life while a slave in 
Algiers ; but no other than a formal answer seems to 
have been returned to his application, and the whole 
affair leaves us to infer the severity of that distress, 
which could induce him to seek relief in exile to a 
colony of which he has elsewhere spoken as the great 
resort for rogues." The appointment he desired was 
either corregidor (or mayor) of the city of Paz or the 
auditorship of New Grenada, the governorship of the 
province of Socunusco or that of the galleys of Cartha- 
gena. His removal to Yalladolid seems to have been 
by command of the revenue authorities, where he still 
collected taxes for public and private persons. While 
collecting for the prior of the order of St. John, he was 
again ill-treated and thrown into prison. 



A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xxxvn 

Not till he was fifty-eight years old did he give to 
the world his master-piece, and thus immortalizes La 
. Mancha, in return for his inhospitable and cruel treat- 
ment. u Don Quixote " was licensed at Yalladolid in 
160-1, and printed at Madrid in 1605. Its success was 
so great that, during his lifetime, thirty thousand vol- 
umes were printed, which in that day was little short 
of marvellous. Four editions were published the first 
year, two at Madrid, one at Valencia, and one at Lis- 
bon. Byron says: " Cervantes laugh'd Spain's chivalry 
away ! " So popular was it, that a spurious second 
part, under the fictitious authorship of Avellanada, was 
published. Cervantes was furious, and called him a 
blockhead ; but Germond de Lavigne, the distinguished 
Spanish scholar, rashly asserts that but for this Avel- 
lanada, he would never have finished " Don Quixote." 
Even before it was printed, jealousy evidently ex- 
isted in the hearts of rival writers, for in one of 
Lope's letters he refers to it, and spitefully hints that 
no poet could be found to write commendatory verses 
on it. 

He recognized the fact of universal selfishness when 
he makes Sancho Panza refuse to learn the Don's love- 
letter and say, " Write it, your worship, for it's sheer 
nonsense to trust anything to my memory." 

Spain is so full of rich material for romance that 
from it his mature mind seemed to inaugurate a new 



xxxvm CER YANTES. 

age in Spanish literature. After the gloomy intoler- 
ance of Philip II., the advent of Philip III. added 
much to the literary freedom of Spain, which still he- 
longed to the " Age of Chivalry," and to this day the 
true Spaniard nourishes the lofty and romantic quali- 
ties which, combined with a tone of sentiment and 
gravity and nobility of conversation, embellishes the 
legitimate grandee. Sismondi de Sismondi says the 
style of "Don Quixote " is inimitable. Montesquieu 
says: " It is written to prove all others useless." To 
some it is an allegory, to some a tragedy, to some a 
parable, and to others a satire. As a satirist we think 
him unrivalled, and this spirit found a choice opportu- 
nity for vent when the troops of Don Carlos I. marched 
upon Rome, taking Pope Clement VII. prisoner, while 
at the same time the king was having prayers said in 
the churches of Madrid for the deliverance of the Pope, 
on the plea that " he was obliged to make war against 
the temporal sovereign of Pome, but not upon the spir- 
itual head of the Church ! " No wonder the king, after 
proving himself so good a Catholic, should end his days 
in a monastery, or that he should mortify himself by 
lying in a coffin, wrapped in a shroud, while funeral 
services were performed over him. What, again, could 
have appealed more to his sense of the ridiculous than 
the contest between the priests and the authorities over 
the funeral obsequies of Philip II., so intolerant a tyrant 



A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xxxix 

that he caused every Spaniard to breathe more freely 
as he ceased so to do. He used his peoplewas 

"Broken tools, that tyrants cast away 
By myriads, when they dare to pave their way 
With human hearts." 

We can easily believe in the greater freedom during 
the reign of Philip III. " Viva el Rey." 

The Count de Lemos was his near friend and protec- 
tor when he brought out the second part of " Don 
Quixote," and ridiculed his rival imitator. He was a 
pioneer of so elevated a character as to preclude the 
possibility of followers. Every one is familiar with it 
as a story, and the mishaps of the gentle, noble-minded, 
kind-hearted old Don, as well as the delusions, simpli- 
city, and selfishness of the devoted squire, will never 
lose their power to amuse. It may be extravagant, but 
it is not a burlesque. The strong character painting, 
the ideas, situations, and language, clothed in such sim- 
plicity that at times it becomes almost solemn, give it a 
grandeur that no other book, considered as a romance, 
possesses. The old anecdote of the king observing a 
student walking by the river side and bursting into in- 
voluntary fits of laughter over a book, exclaiming, " The 
man is either mad or reading ' Don Quixote,' " is well 
preserved. One peculiar feature of the book is that, even 
now, for some places, it would be a useful guide, many 



xl CER VANTES. 

of the habits and customs of Spain three hundred years 
ago being still the same. What a volume of vat and wis- 5 
dom is contained in the proverbs aud aphorisms. One 
might quote from it indefinitely had he not told us that 
" without discretion there is no wit.*' His own motive 
in writing it we find in the last paragraph of the book, 
namely, - My sole object has been to expose to the con- 
tempt they deserved the extravagant and silly tricks of 
chivalry, which this my true and genuine ' Don Quix- 
ote ' has nearly accomplished, their worldly credit being 
now actually tottering, and will doubtless soon sink, 
never to rise again." 

Xow, all languages have it. There are eight transla- 
tions into English alone ; but it is always impossible 
for the translator to render its true spirit or to give it 
full justice. With all its vivacity and drollery, its deli- 
cate satire and keen ridicule, it has a mournful tinge 
of melancholy running through, and here and there 
peeping out, only to have been gathered from such 
experience as his. He wrote with neither bitterness 
nor a diseased imagination, always realizing what is 
due to himself and with a full appreciation of and desire 
for fame. Many scenes of real suffering appear under 
a dramatic guise, and here and there creep out bits of 
personal history. His nature was chivalrous in the 
highest degree. His sorrows were greater than his 
joys. Born for the library, he prefers the camp, and 



A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xli 

abandons literature to right the Turks. Does he not make 
the "Don say, " Let none presume to tell me the pen is 
preferable to the sword." Again he says : " Allowing 
that the end of war is peace, and that in this it exceeds 
the end of learning, let us weigh the bodily labors the 
scholar undergoes against those the warrior suffers, and 
then see which are the greatest." Then he enumer- 
ates : " First, poverty; and having said he endures 
poverty, methinks nothing more need be urged to ex- 
press his misery, for he that is poor enjoys no happi- 
ness, but labors under this poverty in all its guises, at 
one. time in hunger, at another in cold, another in 
nakedness, and sometimes in all of them together." 
Later on he makes him say : " It gives me some con- 
cern to think that powder and lead may suddenly cut 
short my career of glory." 

The world can only be grateful that " his career of 
glory " did not end in the military advancement he had 
the right to expect. Had he been a general, his Rozi- 
nante might still have been wandering without a name, 
and Sancho Panza have died a common laborer. Again 
he says : " Would to God I could find a place to serve 
as a private tomb for this wearisome burden of life 
which I bear so much against my inclination." Sur- 
viving almost unheard-of grievances only to emerge 
from them with greater power ; depicting in his works 
true outlines of his own adventures, sometimes by a 



xlii CERVANTES. 

proverb, often by a romance, he never loses one jot of 
his pride, giving golden advice to Sancho when a gov- 
ernor, and finishing with the expression, " So may'st 
thou escape the pity of the world." In May, 1605, he 
was called upon as a witness in a case of a man w 7 ho was 
mortally wounded and dragged at night into his apart- 
ment, which almost accidentally gives us his household, 
consisting of his wife ; his natural daughter Isabel, 
twenty years of age, unmarried ; his sister, a widow, 
above fifty years; her unmarried daughter, aged twenty- 
eight ; his half-sister, a religieuse ; and a maid-servant. 
His " Espaiiola Inglesa " appeared in 1611. His moral 
tales, the pioneers in Spanish literature, are a combina- 
tion without special plan of serious and comic, romance 
and anecdote, evidently giving, under the guise of fic- 
tion, poetically colored bits of his own experience in 
Italy and Africa. In his story of "La Gitanilla " (the 
gipsy girl) may be found the argument of Weber's 
opera of " Preciosa." " Parnassus '■ was written two 
years before his death, after which he wrote eight come- 
dies and a sequel to his twelve moral tales. In his story 
of " Rinconete j Cortadilla " he evidently derives the 
names from rincon (a corner) and cortar (to cut). His 
last work was " Persiles and Sigismunda," the preface 
of which is a near presentiment of his closing labors. 
He* says : "Farewell, gayety ; farewell, humor ; fare- 
well, my pleasant friends. I must now r die, and I desire 



A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xliii 

nothing more than to soon see you again happy in an- 
other world.*' His industry was wonderful. We can 
but have a grateful feeling towards the Count de Lemos 
for adding to his physical comfort for the last few years, 
and feel a regret that the Count, who had lingered in 
Naples, could not have arrived in time to see him once 
more when he so ardently desired it. In a dedication 
to the Count of his final romance, written only four 
days before his death, he very touchingly says: '*I 
could have wished not to have been obliged to make 
so close a personal application of the old verses com- 
mencing -"With the foot already in the stirrup,' for 
with very little alteration I may truly say that with my 
foot in the stirrup, feeling this moment the pains of 
dissolution, I address this letter to you. Yesterday I 
received extreme unction. To-day I have resumed my 
pen. Time is short, my pains increase, my hopes di- 
minish, yet I do wish my life might be prolonged till 
I could see you again in Spain." His wish was not to 
be gratified : the Count, unaware of the near danger 
of his friend, only returned to find himself overwhelmed 
with grief at his loss. 

After sixty-nine years of varied fortunes and many 
struggles, Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra breathed his 
last, unsoothed by the hands he had loved, for even this 
privilege seems to have been denied to him. At the 
near end of his life he had joined the kindly third order 



xliv CERVANTES. 

of the Franciscan friars, and the brethren cared for him 
at the last. His remarkable clearness of intellect never 
failed him, and on April 23, 1616, the very day that 
Shakspeare died at Stratford, Cervantes died at Madrid, 
Unlike the great English contemporary, whose undis- 
turbed bones have lain quietly under peril of his male- 
diction, the bones of the great Spanish poet were irre- 
vocably lost when the old Convent of the Trinity, in 
the Calle del Humilladero, was destroyed. Ungrateful 
Spain ! the spot had never been marked with a common 
tombstone. 

The old house 1 in the Calle de Francos, where he 
died, was so dilapidated that, in 1835, it was destroyed. 
It was rebuilt, and a marble bust of Cervantes was 
placed over the entrance by the sculptor, Antonio Sola. 

The " Madrid Epoca," under the heading of " The 
Prison of Cervantes," calls attention to the alarming 
state of decay of the house in Argamasilla del Alba, 
in the cellar of which, as an extemporized dungeon, 
tradition asserts that Cervantes was imprisoned, and 
where he penned at least a portion of his work. It was 
in this cellar that, a few years since, the Madrid pub- 
lishing house of Kivadeneyra erected a press and 

1 Some biographers have it that the house was in the Calle cie 
Leon, afterwards the royal asylum, and that his wife and sister 
had belonged to the third order of S^. Francis for seven years 
before his death. 



A BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. xlv 

printed their edition de luxe of u Don Quijote." The 
house was, some years since, purchased by the late In- 
fante Don Sebastian, with a view to a complete and 
careful restoration ; but political changes and his death 
prevented a realization of his project. The "Epoca" 
now calls public attention to the state of decay of the 
house, with a view to an immediate restoration. 

In the Plaza de las Cortes, the city of Madrid has 
placed a beautiful bronze statue of Cervantes upon a 
square pedestal of granite. Upon the sides are bas- 
reliefs representing subjects taken frorn " Don Quijote 
de la Mancha." 

The present time honors his memory ; and for all 

time he will live in the hearts of all true lovers of 

genius. 

Requiescat in Pace. 

EMMA THOMPSON. 




SANCHO PANZA. 



WIT AND WISDOM 



OF 



DON QUIXOTE. 



Down in a village of La Mancha, the name of 
which I have no desire to recollect, there lived, not 
long ago, one of those gentlemen who usually keep 
a lance upon a rack, an old buckler, a lean horse, 
and a coursing gray ho and. Soup, composed of some- 
what more mutton than beef, the fragments served up 
cold on most nights, lentils on Fridays, collops and 
eggs on Saturdays, and a pigeon by way of addition 
on Sundays, consumed three-fourths of his income ; 
the remainder of it supplied him with a cloak of flue 
cloth, velvet breeches, with slippers of the same for 
holidays, and a suit of the best homespun, in which 
he adorned himself on week-days. His family con- 
sisted of a housekeeper above forty, a niece not quite 
twenty, and a lad who served him both in the field and 
at home, who could saddle the horse or handle the 
pruning-hook. The age of our gentleman bordered 
upon fifty years: he was of a strong constitution, 
spare-bodied, of a meagre visage, a very early riser, 

1 



2 WIT AND WISDOM 

and a lover of the chase. Some pretend to say that 
his surname was Quixada or Quesada, for on this 
point his historians differ ; though, from very proba- 
ble conjectures, we may conclude that his name was 
Quixana. This is, however, of little importance to 
our history; let it suffice that, in relating it, we do 
not swerve a jot from the truth. 

In fine, his judgment being completely obscured, he 
was seized with one of the strangest fancies that ever 
entered the head of any madman ; this was, a belief 
that it behooved him, as well for the advancement of 
his glory as the service of his country, to become a 
knight-errant, and traverse the world, armed and 
mounted, in quest of adventures, and to practice all 
that had been performed by knights-errant of whom 
he had read ; redressing every species of grievance, 
and exposing himself to dangers, which, being sur- 
mounted, might secure to him eternal glory and re- 
nown. The poor gentleman imagined himself at 
least crowned Emperor of Trebisond, by the valor 
of his arm ; and thus wrapped in these agreeable de- 
lusions and borne away by the extraordinary pleasure 
he found in them, he hastened to put his designs into 
execution. 

The first thing he did was to scour up some rusty 
armor which had been his great-grandfather's, and 
had lain many years neglected in a corner. This 
he cleaned and adjusted as well as he could ; but he 
found one grand defect, — the helmet was incomplete, 
having only the morion. This deficiency, however, 
he ingeniously supplied by making a kind of visor of 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 3 

pasteboard, which, being fixed to the morion, gave the 
appearance of an entire helmet. It is true, indeed, 
that, in order to prove its strength, he drew his sword, 
and gave it two strokes, the first of which instantly 
demolished the labor of a week ; but not altogether 
approving of the facility with which it was destroyed, 
and in order to secure himself against a similar mis- 
fortune, he made another visor, which, having fenced 
in the inside with small bars of iron, he felt assured of 
its strength, and, without making any more experiments, 
held it to be a most excellent helmet. 

In the next place he visited his steed ; and although 
this animal had more blemishes than the horse of Go- 
nela, which, " tantum pellis et ossa fuit" yet, in his 
eyes, neither the Bucephalus of Alexander nor the 
Cid's Babieca, could be compared with him. Four 
days was he deliberating upon what name he should 
give him ; f oi\ as he said to himself, it would be very 
improper that a horse so excellent, appertaining to a 
knight so famous, should be without an appropriate 
name ; he therefore endeavored to find one that should 
express what he had been before he belonged to a 
knight-errant, and also what he now was : nothing 
could, indeed, be more reasonable than that, when the 
master changed his state, the horse should likewise 
change his name and assume one pompons and high- 
sounding, as became the new order he now professed. 
So, after having devised, altered, lengthened, curtailed, 
rejected, and again framed in his imagination a vari- 
ety of names, he finally determined upon Rozinante, a 
name in his opinion lofty, sonorous, and full of mean- 



4 WIT AND WISDOM 

ing ; importing that he had only been a rozin — a 
drudge horse — before his present condition, and that 
now he was before all the rozins in the world. 

Having given his horse a name so much to his satis- 
faction, he resolved to fix upon one for himself. This 
consideration employed him eight more days, when at 
length he determined to call himself Don Quixote ; 
whence some of the historians of this most true his- 
tory have concluded that his name was certainly Quix- 
ada, and not Quesada, as others would have it. Then 
recollecting that the valorous Amadis, not content w 7 ith 
the simple appellation of Amadis, added thereto the 
name of his kingdom and native country, in order to 
render it famous, styling himself Amadis de Gaul ; so 
he, like a good knight, also added the name of his 
province, and called himself Don Quixote de la Man* 
cha ; whereby, in his opinion, he fully proclaimed his 
lineage and country, which, at the same time, he hon- 
ored by taking its name. 

His armor being now furbished, his helmet made 
perfect, his horse and himself provided with names, 
he found nothing wanting but a lady to be in love 
with, as he said, — 

"A knight-errant without a mistress was a tree 
without either fruit or leaves, and a body without a 
soul!" 

One morning before day, being one of the most sul- 
try in the month of July, he armed himself cap-a-pie, 
mounted Rozinante, placed the helmet on his head, 
braced on his target, took his lance, and, through the 
private gate of his back yard, issued forth into the open 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 5 

plain, in a transport of joy to think he had met with 
no obstacles to the commencement of his honorable 
enterprise. Bnt scarce had he found himself on the 
plain when he was assailed by a recollection so terrible 
as almost to make him abandon the undertaking ; for 
it just then occurred to him that he was not yet dubbed 
a knight ; therefore, in conformity to the laws of chiv- 
alry, he neither could nor ought to enter the lists against 
any of that order ; and, if he had been actually dubbed 
he should, as a new knight, have worn white armor, 
without any device on his shield, until he had gained 
one by force of arms. These considerations made him 
irresolute whether to proceed , but frenzy prevailing 
over reason, he determined to get himself made a 
knight by the first one he should meet, like many 
others of whom he had read. As to white armor, he 
resolved, when he had an opportunity, to scour his 
own, so that it should be whiter than ermine. Having 
now composed his mind, he proceeded, taking whatever 
road his horse pleased; for therein, he believed, con- 
sisted the true spirit of adventure. Everything that 
our adventurer saw and conceived was, by his imagina- 
tion, moulded to what he had read ; so in his eyes the inn 
appeared to be a castle, with its four turrets, and pin- 
nacles of shining silver, together with its drawbridge, 
deep moat, and all the appurtenances with which such 
castles are usually described. When he had advanced 
within a short distance of it, he checked Rozinante, ex- 
pecting some dwarf would mount the battlements, to 
announce by sound of trumpet the arrival of a knight- 
errant at the castle ; but, finding them tardy ? and Rozi- 



6 WIT AXD WISDOM 

nante impatient for the stable, he approached the inn- 
door, and there saw the two girls, who to him appeared 
to be beautiful damsels or lovely dames enjoying them- 
selves before the gate of their castle. 

It happened that, just at this time, a swineherd col- 
lecting his hogs (I make no apology, for so they are 
called) from an adjoining stubblefield, blew the horn 
which assembles them together, and instantly Don 
Quixote was satisfied, for he imagined it was a dwarf 
who had given the signal of his arrival. With extraor- 
dinary satisfaction, therefore, he went up to the inn ; 
upon which the ladies, being startled at the sight of a 
man armed in that manner, with lance and buckler, 
were retreating into the house; but Don Quixote, per- 
ceiving their alarm, raised his pasteboard visor, thereby 
partly discovering his meagre, dusty visage, and with 
gentle demeanor and placid voice, thus addressed them: 
" Fly not, ladies, nor fear any discourtesy, for it would 
be wholly inconsistent with the order of knighthood, 
which I profess, to offer insult to any person, much less 
to virgins of that exalted rank which your appearance 
indicates." The girls stared at him, and were endeav- 
oring to find out his face, which was almost concealed 
by the sorry visor *, but hearing themselves called vir- 
gins, they could not forbear laughing, and to such a 
degree that Don Quixote was displeased, and said to 
thenu "Modesty well becomes beauty, and excessive 
laughter proceeding from slight cause is folly. " 

This language, so unintelligible to the ladies, added 
to the uncouth figure of our knight, increased their 
laughter ; consequently he grew more indignant, and 






OF DON QUIXOTE. 7 

would have proceeded further but for the timely ap- 
pearance of the innkeeper, a very corpulent and there- 
fore a very pacific man, who, upon seeing so ludicrous 
an object, armed, and with accoutrements so ill-sorted 
as were the bridle, lance, buckler, and corselet, felt dis- 
posed to join the damsels in demonstrations of mirth ; 
but, in truth, apprehending some danger from a form 
thus strongly fortified, he resolved to behave with civil- 
ity, and therefore said,' f If, Sir Knight, you are seeking 
for a lodging, you will here find, excepting a bed (for 
there are none in this inn), everything in abundance." 
Don Quixote, perceiving the humility of the governor 
of the fortress, — for such to him appeared the inn- 
keeper, — answered, u For me, Signor Castellano, any- 
thing will suffice, since arms are my ornaments, warfare 
my repose.' 5 The host thought he called hina Castel- 
lano because he took him for a sound Castilian, whereas 
he was an Andalusian of the coast of St. Lucar, as great 
a thief as Cacus and not less mischievous than a colle- 
gian or a page; and he replied, '• If so, your worship's 
beds must be hard rocks, and your sleep continual 
watching ; and that being the case, you may dismount 
with a certainty of finding here sufficient cause for 
keeping awake the whole year, much more a single 
night. 9? So saying, he laid hold of Don Quixote's 
stirrup, who alighted with much difficulty and pain, 
for he had fasted the whole of the day. He then de- 
sired the host to take especial care of his steed, for it 
was the finest creature ever fed ; the innkeeper exam- 
ined him, but thought him not so good by half as his 
master had represented hiim Having led the horse to 



8 WIT AND WISDOM 

the stable he returned to receive the orders of his guest] 
whom the damsels, being now reconciled to him, were 
disarming ; they had taken off the back and breast 
plates, but endeavored in vain to disengage the gorget, 
or take off the counterfeit beaver, which he had fas- 
tened with green ribbons in such a manner that they 
could not be untied, and he would upon no account 
allow them to be cut ; therefore he remained all that 
night with his helmet on, the strangest and most ridic- 
ulous figure imaginable. 

While these light girls, whom he still conceived to 
be persons of quality and ladies of the castle, were 
disarming him, he said to them, with infinite grace; 
" Never before was knight so honored by ladies as Don- 
Quixote, after his departure from his native village i 
damsels attended upon him ; princesses took charge of 
his steed 1 O Rosinante, — for that, ladies, is the name 
of my horse, and Don Quixote de la Maneha my own ; 
although it was not my intention to have discovered 
myself until deeds performed in your service should 
have proclaimed me ; but impelled to make so just an 
application of that ancient romance of Lanzarote to my 
present situation, I have thus prematurely disclosed my 
name : yet the time shall come when your ladyships 
may command, and I obey ; when the valor of my arm 
shall make manifest the desire I have to serve you.'' 
The girls, unaccustomed to such rhetorical flourishes, 
made no reply, but asked whether he would please to 
eat anything. k, I shall willingly take some food,'* 
answered Don Quixote, "for I apprehend it would be 
of much service to me." That day happened to be 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 9 

Friday, and there was nothing in the house but some 
fish of that kind which in Castile is called Abadexo ; 
in Andalusia, Bacallao ; in some parts, Curadillo ; and 
in others, Truchuela. They asked if his worship would 
like some truchuela, for they had no other fish to offer 
him. "If there be many troutiings," replied Don 
Quixote, " they will supply the place of one trout ; for 
it is the same to me whether I receive eight single rials 
or one piece-of-eight. Moreover, these trout 1 ings may 
be preferable, as veal is better than beef, and kid su- 
perior to goat. Be that as it may, let it come imme- 
diately, for the toil and weight of arms cannot be 
sustained by the body unless the interior be supplied 
with aliments." For the benefit of the cool air, they 
placed the table at the door of the inn, and the land- 
lord produced some of his ill-soaked and worse-cooked 
bacallao, with bread as foul and black as the knight's 
armor. But it was a spectacle highly risible to see 
him eat ; for his hands being engaged in holding his 
helmet on and raising the beaver, he could not feed 
himself, therefore one of the ladies performed that office 
for him ; but to drink would have been utterly impos- 
sible had not the innkeeper bored a reed, and placing 
one end into his mouth at the other poured in the wine; 
and all this be patiently endured rather than cut the 
lacings of his helmet. 

THE TLEASAXT METHOD DON" QUIXOTE TOOK TO BE 
DUBBED A KNIGHT. 

It troubled him to reflect that he was not yet a knight, 
feeling persuaded that he could not lawfully engage in 



10 WIT AXD WISDOM 

any adventure until he had been invested with the 
order of knighthood. 

Agitated by this idea, he abruptly finished his sc 
supper, called the innkeeper, and. shutting himself up 
with him in the stable, he fell on his knees before him 
and said. " Never will I arise from this place, valorous 
knight, until your courtesy shall vouchsafe to grant a 
boon which it is my intention to request. — a boon that 
will redound to your glory and to the benefit of all 
mankind." The innkeeper, seeing his guest at his 
feet and hearing such language, stood confounded and 
stared at him without knowing what to do or say : he 
entreated him to rise, but in vain, until he had prem- 
ised to grant the boon he requested. " I expected no 
less, signor, from your great magnificence.'' replied 
Don Quixote ; " know, therefore, that the boon I have 
demanded, and which your liberality has conceded, is 
that on the morrow you will confer upon me the honor 
of knighthood. This night I will watch my arms in the 
chapel of your castle, in order that, in the morning, 
my earnest desire may be fulfilled and I may with pro- 
priety traverse the four quarters of the world in quest 
of adventures for the relief of the distressed, conform- 
able to the duties of chivalry and of knights-errant, 
who. like myself, are devoted to such pursuits.*' 

The host, who, as we have said, was a shrewd fellow, 
and had already entertained some doubts respecting the 
wits of his guest, was now confirmed in his suspicions ; 
and to make sport for the night, determined to follow 
his humor. He told him. therefore, that his desire was 
very reasonable, and that such pursuits were natural 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 11 

and suitable to knights so illustrious as he appeared to 
be, and as his gallant demeanor fully testified ; that 
he had himself in the days of his youth followed that 
honorable profession, and travelled over various parts 
of the world in search of adventures ; failing not to visit 
the suburbs of Malaga, the isles of Riaran, the compass 
of Seville, the market-place of Segovia, the olive-field 
of Valencia, the rondilla of Grenada, the coast of St. 
Lucar, the fountain of Cordova, the taverns of Toledo, 
and divers other parts, where he had exercised the 
agility of his heels and the dexterity of his hands ; 
committing sundry wrongs, soliciting widows, seduc- 
ing damsels, cheating youths. — in short, making him- 
self known to most of the tribunals in Spain ; and that, 
finally, he had retired to this castle, where he lived upon 
his revenue and that of others, entertaining therein all 
knights-errant of every quality and degree solely for 
the great affection he bore them, and that they might 
share their fortune with him in return for his good 
will. He further told him that in his castle there was 
no chapel wherein he could watch his armor, for it had 
been pulled down in order to be rebuilt; but that, in 
cases of necessity, he knew it might be done wherever 
he pleased. Therefore, he might watch it that night 
in a court of the castle, and the following morning, if 
it pleased God, the requisite ceremonies should be per- 
formed, and he should be dubbed so effectually that 
the world would not be able to produce a more perfect 
knight. He then inquired if he had any money about 
him. Don Quixote told him he had none, having never 
read in their histories that knights-errant provided 



12 WIT AND WISDOM 

themselves with money. The innkeeper assured him 
he was mistaken ; for, admitting that it was not men- 
tioned in their history, the authors deeming it unneces- 
sary to specify things so obviously requisite as money 
and clean shirts, yet was it not therefore to be inferred 
that they had none ; but, on the contrary, he might 
consider it as an established fact that all knights- 
errant, of whose histories so many volumes are filled, 
carried their purses well provided against accidents ; 
that they were also supplied with shirts, and a small 
casket of ointments to heal the wounds they might 
receive, for in plains and deserts, where they fought 
and were wounded, no aid was near unless they had 
some sage enchanter for their friend, who could give them 
immediate assistance by conveying in cloud through 
the air some damsel or dwarf, with a phial of water 
possessed of such virtue that, upon tasting a single 
drop of it, they should instantly become as sound as 
if they had received no injury. But when the knights 
of former times were without such a friend, they always 
took care that their esquires should be provided with 
money and such necessary articles as lint and salves ; 
and when they had no esquires — which very rarely 
happened — they carried these things themselves upon 
the crupper of their horse, in wallets so small as to be 
scarcely visible, that they might seem to be something 
of more importance ; for, except in such cases, the 
custom of .carrying wallets was not tolerated among 
knights-errant. He therefore advised, though, as his 
godson (which he was soon to be), he might command 
him, never henceforth to travel without money and the 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 13 

aforesaid provisions, and he would find them service- 
able when he least expected it. Don Quixote promised 
to follow his advice with punctuality; and an order was 
now given for performing the watch of the armor in a 
large yard adjoining the inn. Don Quixote, having 
collected it together placed it on a cistern which was 
close to a well ; then, bracing on his target and grasp- 
ing his lance, with graceful demeanor he paced to and 
fro before the pile, beginning his parade as soon as it 
was dark. 

The innkeeper informed all who were in the inn of 
the frenzy of his guest, the watching of his armor, and 
of the intended knighting. 

The host repeated to him that there was no chapel in 
the castle, nor was it by any means necessary for what 
remained to be done ; that the stroke of knighting con- 
sisted in blows on the neck and shoulders, according to 
the ceremonial of the order, which might be effectually 
performed in the middle of the field; that the duty of 
watching his armor he had now completely fulfilled, 
for he had watched more than four hours, though only 
two were required. All this Don Quixote believed, 
and said that he was there ready to obey him, request- 
ing him, at the same time, to perform the deed as soon 
as possible ; because, should he be assaulted again 
when he found himself knighted, he was resolved not 
to leave one person alive in the castle, excepting those 
whom, out of respect to him, and at his particular re- 
quest, he might be induced to spare. The constable, 
thus warned and alarmed, immediately brought forth 
a book in which he kept his account of the straw and 



14 WIT AXD WISDOM 

oats lie furnished to the carriers, and attended by a boy, 
who carried an end of candle, and the two damsels 
before mentioned, went towards Don Quixote, whom 
he commanded to kneel down ; he then began reading 
in his manual, as if it were some devout prayer, 
in the course of which he raised his hand and gave 
him a good blow on the neck, and, after that, a hand- 
some stroke over the shoulders, with his own sword, 
still muttering between his teeth, as if in prayer. 
This being done, he commanded one of the ladies to 
gird on his sword, an office she performed with much 
alacrity, as well as discretion, no small portion of 
which was necessary to avoid bursting with laughter at 
every part of the ceremony ; but indeed the prowess 
they had seen displayed by the new knight kept their 
mirth within bounds. 

At girding on the sword, the good lady said: 
" God grant you may be a fortunate knight and suc- 
cessful in battle.*' 

Don Quixote inquired her name, that he might 
thenceforward know to whom he was indebted for the 
favor received, as it was his intention to bestow upon 
her some share of the honor he should acquire by the 
valor of his arm. She replied, with much humility, 
that her name was Tolosa, and that she was the daugh- 
ter of a cobbler at Toledo, who lived at the stalls of 
Sanchobienaya : and that, wherever she was, she would 
serve and honor him as her lord. Don Quixote, in 
reply, requested her. for his sake, to do him the favor 
henceforth to add to her name the title of don. and 
call herself Donna Tolosa, which she promised to do. 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 15 

The other girl now buckled on his spur, and with her 
he held nearly the same conference as with the lady of 
the sword ; having inquired her name, she told him it 
was Molinera, and that she was daughter to an honest 
miller of Antiquera : he then requested her likewise to 
assume the don, and style herself Donna Molinera, 
renewing his proffers of service and thanks. 

These never-till-then-seen ceremonies being thus 
speedily performed, Don Quixote was impatient to find 
himself on horseback, in quest of adventures. He 
therefore instantly saddled Rozinante, mounted him, 
and, embracing his host, made his acknowledgments 
for the favor he had conferred by knighting him, in 
terms so extraordinary, that it would be in vain to at- 
tempt to repeat them. The host, in order to get rid of 
him the sooner, replied, with no less flourish, but more 
brevity ; and. without making any demand for his lodg- 
ing, wished him a good journey. 



The tongue stow and the eyes quick. 



Keep your mouth shut and your eyes open. 
The brave man carves out his own fortune. 



Very full of pain, yet soon as he was able to stir, he 
began to roll himself on the ground, and to repeat, in 
what they affirm was said by the wounded knight of 
the wood: — 

14 Where art thou, mistress of my heart, 
Unconscious of thy lover's smart? 
Ah me! thou know'st not my distress. 
Or thou art false and pitiless." 



10 WIT AXD WISDOM 

*• I know who T am, 5 ' answered Don Quixote : 
I know, too, that I am not only capable of being those 
J have mentioned, but all the twelve peers of F: 

nd the nine worthies, since my exploits will far 
exceed a]l that they have jointly or sepan 
achieved. ' ' 

DESTRUCTION OF PCX QUIXOTE* 5 LIBRARY. 

Long and heavy was the sleep of Don Quixote : 
meanwhile the priest having asked the niece for the 
key of the chamber containing the books, those 
thors of the mischief, which she delivered with a 
good will, they entered, attended by the hoi 
and found above a hundred large volumes well bound, 
besides a great number of smaller size. Nc 3 
did the housekeeper see them than she ran out oi 
room in great haste, and immediately returned with a 
pot of holy water and a bunch of hyssop, saying : 
'* Siguor Licentiate, take this and sprinkle the room, 
lest some enchanter of the many tTiat the* 
abound with should enchant us. as a punishment for 
our intention to banish them out of the world 

The priest smiled at the housekeeper's simpli 
and ordered the barber to reach him the books one by 
one, that they might see what they treat 
might perhaps find some that deserved not : be chas- 
tised by fire. 

" No," said the niece. ;i there is no reason why any 
of them should be spared. : have all 

chief-makers : so let them all be thrown out of thr 
dow into the courtyard : and havii _ le a pile of 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 17 

them, set fire to it ; or else make a bonfire of them in 
the back yard, where the smoke will offend nobody/' 

The housekeeper said the same, so eagerly did they 
both thirst for the death of those innocents. But the 
priest would not consent to it without first reading the 
titles at least. 

The first that Master Nicholas put into his hands was 
"Amadis de Gaul," in four parts: and the priest 
said: " There seems to be some mystery in this, for I 
have heard say that this was the first book of chivalry 
printed in Spain, and that all the rest had their foun- 
dation and rise from it: I think, therefore, as head of 
so pernicious a sect, we ought to condemn him to the 
fire without mercy.'' 

"Not so," said the barber; "for I have heard also 
that it is the best of all the books of this kind: therefore, 
as being unequalled in its way, it ought to be spared. " 

•• You are right," said the priest. *• and for that rea- 
-j& life is granted for the present. Let us see that 
other next to him.'' 

•• It is," said the barber, " the •' Adventures of Esplan- 
dian. ' the legitimate son of ' Amadis de Gaul." " 

••Verily." said the priest, '-the goodne-s of the 
father shall avail the son nothing : take him. Mistress 
Housekeeper ; open that casement, and throw him into 
the yard, and let him make a beginning to the pile for 
the intended bonfire.'' 

The housekeeper did so with much satisfaction, and 
good Esplandian was sent flying into the yard, there 
to wait with patience for the fire with which he was 
threatened. 



18 WIT AXD WISDOM 

" Proceed," said the priest. 

4 'The next/' said the barber, "is * Amadis of 
Greece ; ' yea, and all these on this side, I believe, are 
of the lineage of Amadis." 

"Then into the yard with them all!" quoth the 
priest; " for rather than not burn Queen Pintiquinies- 
tra, and the shepherd Darinal with his eclogues, and 
the devilish perplexities of the author, I would burn 
the father who begot me, were I to meet him in the 
shape of a knight-errant." 

" Of the same opinion am I," said the barber. 

"And I too," added the niece. 

"Well, then," said the house Keeper, "away with 
them all into the yard." They handed them to her ; 
and, as they were numerous, to save herself the trouble 
of the stairs, she threw them all out of the window. 

" What tun of an author is that? " said the priest. 

" This," answered the- barber, "is 'Don Olivante de 
Laura.' " 

"The author of that book," said the priest, " was 
the same who composed the ' Garden of Flowers : ' and 
in good truth I know T not which of the two books 
is the truest, or rather, the least lying : I can only 
say that this goes to the yard for its arrogance and 
absurdity." 

" This that follows is ' Florismarte of Hyrcania,' " 
said the barber. 

"What! is Signor Florismarte there? " replied the 
priest ; now, by my faith, he shall soon make his ap- 
pearance in the yard, notwithstanding his strange 
birth and chimerical adventures ; for the harshness 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 19 

f his style will admit of no excuse. To 
the yard with, him, and this other, Mistress House- 

t* With all my heart, dear sir," answered she. and 
with much joy executed what she was comma;. 

11 Here is the • Knight Platir.' " said the bai 

•• That." said the priest. •• is an ancient book, and I 
find nothing in him deserving pardon : without more 
words, let him be sent after the rest; " which was 
accordingly done. They opened another book, and 
found it entitled the ••Knight of the - •• So 

religious a title." quoth the priest, ■• might, one would 
think, atone for the ignorance of the author: but it is a 
common saying k the devil lurks behind the cross 
to the fire with him." 

The barber, taking down another book, said, •■ This 
is • The Mirror of Chivalry.* 

"Oh!T know his worship very well," [uoth the 
"I am only for condemning this to perpetual 
banishment because it contains some things of the 
famous Mateo Boyardo. 

•• If I find him here uttering any other language than 
his own. I will show no respect : but if he speaks in his 
own tongue, I will put him upon my hes 

•• I have him in Italian/' said the barber. " but I do 
not understand him." 

"Neither is it any great matter, whether you un 
stand him or not." answered the priest : •• and we would 
willingly have excused the good captain from bringing 
him into Spain and making him a Castilian : for he has 
deprived him of a great deal of his native value: which, 



20 WIT AND WISDOM 

indeed, is the misfortune of all those who undertake 
the translation of poetry into other languages; for, will 
all their care and skill, they can never bring them on a 
level with the original production. This book, neigh- 
bor, is estimable upon two accounts ; the one, that it is 
very good of itself ; and the other, because there is a tra- 
dition that it was written by an ingenious king of Por- 
tugal. All the advent ares of the castle of Miraguardi 
are excellent, and contrived with much art ; the dia- 
logue courtly and clear; and all the characters preserved 
with great judgment and propriety. Therefore, blaster 
Nicholas, saving your better judgment, let this and • Ain- 
adis de Gaul ' be exempted from the fire, and let all the 
rest perish without any further inquiry." 

" Xot so, friend," replied the barber ; " for this which 
I have here is the renowned ' Don Bellianis.' " 

The priest replied : " This, and the second, third, and 
fourth parts want a little rhubarb to purge away their 
excess of bile ; besides, we must remove all that relates 
to the castle of Fame, and other absurdities of greater 
consequence ; for which let sentence of transportation 
be passed upon them, and, according as they show signs 
of amendment, they shall be treated with mercy or jus- 
tice. In the mean time, neighbor, give them room in 
your house ; but let them not be read." 

" With all my heart," quoth the barber ; and without 
tiring himself any farther in turning overbooks of chiv- 
alry, bid the housekeeper take all the great ones and 
throw them into the yard. This was not spoken to the 
stupid or deaf, but to one who had a greater mind to be 
burning them than weaving the finest and largest web ; 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 21 

and therefore, laying hold of seven or eight at once, she 
tossed them out at the window. 

But, in taking so many together, one fell at the bar- 
ber's feet, who had a mind to see what it was, and found 
it to be the history of the renowned knight Tirante the 
White. " Heaven save me! " quoth the priest, with a 
loud voice, "is Tirante the White there? Give him to 
me, neighbor; for in him I shall have a treasure of de- 
light, and a mine of entertainment. Here we have Don 
Kyrie-Eleison of Montalvan, a valorous knight, and his 
brother Thomas of Montalvan, with the knight Fon- 
seca, and the combat which the valiant Tirante fought 
with the bull-dog, and the witticisms of the damsel 
Plazerdemivida ; also the amours and artifices of the 
widow Reposada ; and madam the Empress in love with 
her squire Hypolito. Verily, neighbor, in its way it is 
the best book in the world : here the knights eat and 
sleep, and die in their beds, and make their wills before 
their deaths ; with several things which are not to be 
found in any other books of this kind. Notwithstand- 
ing this I tell you, the author deserved, for writing so 
many foolish things seriously, to be sent to the galleys 
for the whole of his life : carry it home, and read it, and 
you will find all I say of him to be true." 

" I will do so," answered the barber: " but what 
shall we do with these small volumes that remain? " 

lt Those," said the priest, " are, probably, not books of 
chivalry, but of poetry." Then opening one he found 
it was the ' Diana ' of George de Montemayor, and. con- 
cluding that all the others were of the same kind, he 
said, 4t These do not deserve to be burnt like the rest ; 



22 WIT AND WISDOM 

for they cannot do the mischief that those of chivalry 
have done ; they are works of genius and fancy, and do 
injury to none." 

"O sir," said the niece, "pray order them to be 
burnt with the rest ; for should my uncle be cured of 
this distemper of chivalry, he may possibly, by reading 
such books, take it into his head to turn shepherd, and 
wander through the woods and fields, singing and play- 
ing on a pipe ; and what would be still worse, turn poet, 
which, they say, is an incurable and contagious dis- 
ease." 

" The damsel says true," quoth the priest, " and it 
will not be amiss to remove this stumbling-block out of 
our friend's way. And, since we begin with the ' Diana' 
of Montemayor, my opinion is that it should not be 
burnt, but that all that part should be expunged which 
treats of the sage Felicia, and of the enchanted foun- 
tain, and also most of the longer poems ; leaving him, 
in God's name, the prose and also the honor of being 
the first in that kind of writing." 

• "The next that appears," said the barber, "is the 
Diana, called the second, by Salmantino; and another, 
of the same name, wdiose author is Gil Polo." 

" The Salmantinian," answered the priest, " may ac- 
company and increase the number of the condemned — 
to the yard with him : but let that of Gil Polo be pre- 
served, as if it were w r ritten by Apollo himself. Pro- 
ceed, friend, and let us despatch; for it grows late." 

" This," said the barber, opening another, " is the 
' Ten Books of the Fortune of Love,' composed by An- 
tonio de lo Frasso, a Sardinian poet." 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 23 

"By the holy orders I have received!" said the 
priest, " since Apollo was Apollo, the muses muses, and 
the poets poets, so humorous and so whimsical a book 
as this was never written; it is the best, and most extra- 
ordinary of the kind that ever appeared in the world ; 
and he who has not read it may be assured that he has 
never read anything of taste : give it me here, neighbor, 
for I am better pleased at finding it than if I had been 
presented with a cassock of Florence satin." He laid 
it aside, with great satisfaction, and the barber pro- 
ceeded, saying : — 

" These which follow are the ' Shepherd of Iberia,' the 
' Nymphs of Enares,' and the ' Cure of Jealousy.' " 

" Then you have only to deliver them up to the secu- 
lar arm of the housekeeper," said the priest, * ; and ask 
me not why, for in that case we should never have 
done." 

u The next is the ' Shepherd of Filida.' " 

" He is no shepherd," said the priest, " but an ingen- 
ious courtier ; let him be preserved, and laid up as a 
precious jewel." 

" This bulky volume here," said the barber, " is en- 
titled the 'Treasure of Divers Poems.' " 

"Had they been fewer." replied the priest, "they 
would hare been more esteemed: it is necessary that 
this book should be weeded and cleared of some low 
things interspersed amongst its sublimities: let it be 
preserved, both because the author is my friend, and 
out of respect to other more heroic and exalted produc- 
tions of his pen." 

k - This," pursued the barber, "is 'El Cancionero' of 
Lopez Maldonado." 



24 WIT AND WISDOM 

" The author of that book," replied the priest, ;i is 
also a great friend of mine: his verses, when sung by 
himself , excite much admiration ; indeed such is the 
sweetness of his voice in singing them, that they are 
perfectly enchanting. He is a little too prolix in his 
eclogues ; but there can never be too much of what is 
really good: let it be preserved with the select. But 
what book is that next to it? " 

" The 'Galatea' of Miguel de Cervantes," said the 
barber. 

" That Cervantes hns been an intimate friend of 
mine these many years, and I know that he is more 
versed in misfortunes than in poetry. There is a good 
vein of invention in his book, which proposes some- 
thing, though nothing is concluded. We must wait for 
the second part, which he has promised : perhaps, on 
his amendment, he may obtain that entire pardon 
which is now denied him ; in the mean time, neighbor, 
keep him a recluse in your chamber." 

" With all my heart,'? answered the barber. " Now, 
here come three together: the 'Araucana' of Don 
Alonzo de Ercilla, the ' Austriada ' of Juan Rufo, a 
magistrate of Cordova, and the ' Monserrato ' of Chris- 
toval de Virves, a poet of Valencia." 

" These three books," said the priest, " are the best 
that are written in heroic verse in the Castilian tongue, 
and may stand in competition with the most renowned 
works of Italy. Let them be preserved as the best pro- 
ductions of the Spanish Muse." 

The priest grew tired of looking over so many books, 
and therefore, without examination, proposed that all 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 25 

the rest should be burnt: but the barber, having already 
opened one called the " Tears of Angelica," " I should 
have shed tears myself," said the priest, on hearing the 
name, '-had I ordered that book to be burnt: for its 
author was one of the most celebrated poets, not only 
of Spain, but of the whole world: his translations from 
Ovid are admirable." 

The same night the housekeeper set fire to and burnt 
all the books that were in the yard and in the house. 
Some must have perished that deserved to be treasured 
up in perpetual archives, but their destiny or the in- 
dolence of the scrutineer forbade it ; and in them was 
fulfilled the saying, that — 

il The just sometimes suffer for the unjust." 



In the mean time Don Quixote tampered with a 
laborer, a neighbor of his, and an honest man (if such 
an epithet can be given to one that is poor), but shal- 
low brained ; in short, he said so much, used so many 
arguments, and made so many promises, that the poor 
fellow resolved to sally out with him and serve him in 
the capacity of a squire. Among other things. Don 
Quixote told him that he ought to be very glad to 
accompany him, for such an adventure might some 
time or the other occur, that by one stroke an island 
might be won, where he might leave him governor. 
With this and other promises, Sancho Panza (for that 
was the laborer's name) left his wife and children and 
engaged himself as squire to his neighbor. 

Sancho Panza proceeded upon his ass, like a patri- 
arch, with his wallet and leathern bottle, and with a 



26 WIT AXD WISDOM 

vehement desire to find himself governor of the island, 
which his master had promised him. Don Quixote 
happened to take the same route as on his first expedi- 
tion, over the plain of Montiel, which he passed with 
less inconvenience than before, for it was early in the 
morning, and the rays of the sun, darting on them hori- 
zontally, did not annoy them. Sancho Panza now said 
to his master: t; I .beseech your worship, good sir 
knight-errant, not to forget your promise concerning 
that same island ; for I shall know how to govern it, 
be it ever so large." 

To which Don Quixote answered : u Thou must 
know, friend Sancho Panza, that it was a custom 
much in use among the knights-errant of old to make 
their squires governors of the islands or kingdoms they 
conquered, and I am determined that so laudable a 
custom shall rot be lost through my neglect ; on the 
contrary, I resolve to outdo them in it : for they some- 
times, and perhaps most times, waited till their squires 
were grown old ; and when they were worn out in their 
service, and had endured many bad days and worse 
nights, they conferred on them some title, such as 
count, or at least marquis, of some valley or province 
of more or less account ; but if you live, and I live, 
before six days have passed I may probably win such 
a kingdom as may have others depending on it, just fit 
for thee to be crowned king of one of them. And do 
not think this any extraordinary matter, for things fall 
out to knights by such unforeseen and unexpected ways, 
that I may easily give thee more than I promise." 

" So then/' answered Sancho Panza, ki if I were a 



OF DOX QUIXOTE. 27 

king by some of those miracles your worship mentions, 
Joan Gutierrez, my cluck, would come to be a queen, 
and my children infantas! " 

" Who doubts it ? " answered Don Quixote. 

" I doubt it," replied Sancho Panza, " for I am verily 
persuaded that, if God were to rain down kingdoms 
upon the earth, none of them would sit well upon the 
head of Mary Gutierrez ; for you must know, sir, she 
is not worth two farthings for a queen. The title of 
countess would sit better upon her, with the help of 
Heaven and good friends." 

" Recommend her to God, Sancho," answered Don 
Quixote, '• and he will do what is best for her. but do 
thou have a care not to debase thy mind so low as to 
content thyself with being less than a viceroy." 

" Heaven grant us good success, and that we may 
speedily get this island which costs me so dear. Xo 
matter then how soon I die." 

"I have already told thee, Sancho, to give thyself 
no concern upon that account : for, if an island cannot be 
had, there is the kingdom of Denmark or that of Sobra- 
disa, which will fit thee like a ring to the finger. Besides, 
as they are upon terra jirma, thou shouldst prefer thorn. 
But let us leave this to its own time, and see if thou 
hast anything for us to eat in thy wallet. AYe will then 
go in quest of some castle, where we may lodge this 
night and make the balsam that I told thee of, for I 
declare that my ear pains me exceedingly." 

" I have here an onion and a piece of cheese, and I 
know not how many crusts of bread,"' said Sancho, 
" but they are not eatables fit for so valiant a knight 
as your worship.'' 



28 WIT AND WISDOM 

" How little dost thou understand of this matter! " 
answered Don 'Quixote. " I tell thee, Sancho, that it 
is honorable in knights-errant not to eat once in a 
month ; and, if they do taste food, it must be what 
first offers : and this thou wouldst have known hadst 
thou read as many histories as I have done ; for, though 
I have perused many, I never yet found in them any 
account of knights-errant taking food, unless it were 
by chance and at certain sumptuous banquets prepared 
expressly for them. The rest of their days they lived, 
as it were, upon smelling. And though it is to be pre- 
sumed they could not subsist without eating and satis- 
fying all other wants, — as, in fact, they were men, — 
yet, since they passed most part of their lives in wan-' 
dering through forests and deserts, and without a cook, 
their usual diet must have consisted of rustic viands, . 
such as those which thou hast now offered me. There- 
fore, friend Sancho, let not that trouble thee which 
gives me pleasure, nor endeavor to make a new world, ' 
or to throw knight-errantry off its hinges." 

" Pardon me, sir," said Sancho; "for, as I can neither 
read nor write, as I told you before, I am entirely un- 
acquainted with the rules of the knightly profession ; 
but henceforward I will furnish my wallet with all sorts 
of dried fruits for your' worship, who are a knight; and 
for myself, who am non£, I will supply it w T ith poultry 
and other things of more substance." 



There cannot be too much of a good thing. 
What is lost to-day may be won to-morrow. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 29 

A saint may sometimes suffer for a sinner. 



Many go out for wool and return shorn. 



Matters of war are most subject to continual change. 



Every man that is aggrieved is allowed to defend 
himself by all laws human and divine. 



Truth is the mother of history, the rival of time, the 
depository of great actions, witness of the past, exam- 
ple and adviser of the present, and oracle of future 
ages. 

Love, like knight-errantry, puts all things on a 
I level. 

He that humbleth himself God will exalt. 1 



After Don Quixote had satisfied his hunger, he took 
up a handful of acorns, and, looking on them atten- 
tively, gave utterance to expressions like these : — 

" Happy times and happy ages were those which the 
ancients termed the Golden Age ! Not because gold, 
so prized in this our Iron age, was to be obtained, in 
that fortunate period, without toil ; but because they 
who then lived were ignorant of those two words, Mine 
and Thine. In that blessed age all things were in com- 
mon ; to provide their ordinary sustenance no other 

1 Showing that Cervantes was familiar with the Bible as well 
as Latin classics. 



30 WIT AND WISDOM 

labor was necessary than to raise their hands and take 
it from the sturdy oaks, which stood liberally inviting 
them to taste their sweet and relishing fruit. The 
limpid fountains and running streams offered them, 
in magnificent abundance, their delicious and transpar- 
ent waters. In the clefts of rocks, and in hollow trees, 
the industrious and provident bees formed their coral 
monwealths, offering to every hand, without interest, the 
fertile produce of their most delicious toil. The stately 
cork-trees, impelled by their own courtesy alone, divested 
themselves of their light and expanded bark, with which 
men began to cover their houses, supported by rough 
poles, only as a defence against the inclemency of the 
heavens. All then was peace, all amity, all concord. 
The heavy colter of the crooked plough had not yet 
dared to force open and search into the tender bowels 
of our first mother, who, unconstrained, offered from 
every part of her fertile and spacious bosom whatever 
might feed, sustain, and delight those, her children, 
by whom she was then possessed." 



ANTONIO. 

Yes. lovely nymph, thou art my prize ; 

I boast the conquest of thy heart, 
Though nor the tongue, nor speaking eyes, 

Have yet revealed the latent smart. 

Thy wit and sense assure my fate, 
In them my love's success I see ; 

Xor can he be unfortunate 

"Who dares avow his flame for thee. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 31 

Yet sometimes hast thou frowned, alas ! 

And given my hopes a cruel shock ; 
Then did thy soul seem formed of brass, 

Thy snowy bosom ol the rock. 

But in the midst of thy disdain, 
Thy sharp reproaches, cold delays, 

Hope from behind to ease my pain, 
The border of her robe displays. 

Ah, lovely maid! in equal scale 

Weigh well thy shepherd's truth and love, 
Which ne'er but with his breath can fail, 

Which neither frowns nor smiles can move. 

If love, as shepherds wont to say, 

Be gentleness and courtesy, 
So courteous is Olalia, 

My passion will rewarded be. 

And if obsequious duty paid, 

The grateful heart can never move, 

Mine sure, my fair, may well persuade 
A due return and claim thy love. 

For, to seem pleasing in thy sight, 

I dress myself with studious care, 
And, in my best apparel dight, 

My Sunday clothes on Monday w T ear. 

And shepherds say I 'm not to blame, 
For cleanly dress and spruce attire 



32 WIT AND WISDOM 

Preserve alive love's wanton flame 
And gently. fan the dying fire. 

To please my fair, in mazy ring 

I join the dance, and sportive play ; 

And oft beneath thy window sing, 

When first the cock proclaims the day. 

With rapture on each charm I dwell, 
And daily spread thy beauty's fame ; 

And still my tongue thy praise shall tell, 
Though envy swell, or malice blame. 

Teresa of the Eerrocal, 

When ouce I praised you, said in spite, 
Your mistress you an angel call, 

But a mere ape is your delight. 

Thanks to the bugle's artful glare, 
And all the graces counterfeit ; 

Thanks to the false and curled hair, 
Which wary Love himself might cheat. 

I swore 'twas false, and said she iied ; 

At that her anger fiercely rose ; 
1 boxed the clown that took her side, 

And how T I boxed my fairest knows. 

I court thee not, Olalia, 

To gratify a loose desire ; 
My love is chaste, without ailoy 

Of wanton wish or lustful fire. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 33 

The church hath silken cords, that tie 
Consenting hearts in mutual bands : 

If thou, my fair, its yoke will try, 
Thy swain its ready captive stands. 

If not, by all the saints I swear 

On these bleak mountains still to dwell, 

Nor ever quit my toilsome care, 
But for the cloister and the cell. 



I think I see her now, with that goodly presence, 
looking as if she had the sun on one side of her and the 
moon on the other ; and above all, she was a notable 
housewife, and a friend to the poor ; for which I believe 
her soul is at this very moment in heaven. 



A clergyman must be over and above good, who 
makes all his parishioners speak well of him. 



Parents ought not to settle their children against their 
will. 



Though she does not fly or shun the company and 
conversation of the shepherds, but treats them in a 
courteous and friendly manner, yet, when any one of 
them ventures to discover his intention, though it be as 
just and holy as that of marriage, she casts him from 
her as out of a stone-bow. And by this sort of beha- 
vior she does more mischief hi this country than if she 
carried the plague about with her ; for her affability and 
beauty win the hearts of those who converse with her, 



34 WIT AND WISDOM 

and incline them to serve and love her : but her disdain 
and frank dealing drive them to despair ; and so they 
know not what to say to her, and can only exclaim 
against her, calling her cruel and ungrateful, with such 
other titles as plainly denote her character ; and, were 
you to abide here, sir, awhile, you would hear these 
mountains and valleys resound with the complaints of 
those rejected wretches that yet follow her. There is 
a place not far hence, where about two dozen of tall 
beeches grow, and not one of them is without the name 
of Marcela written and engraved on its smooth bark 
pversome'of them is carved a crown, as if the lover 
would more clearly observe that Marcela deserves and 
wears the crown of all human beauty. 



Revels, banquets, and repose, were invented for 
effeminate courtiers ; but toil, disquietude, and arms 
alone were designed for those whom the world calls 
knights-errant. 

For never sure was any knight 

So served by damsel, or by dame, 
As Lancelot, that man of might, 
When he at first from Britain came. 



The soldier who executes his captain's command is 
no less valuable than the captain who gave the order. 



" I am of the same opinion," replied the traveller; 
" but one thing, among many others which appear to 
me to be censurable in knights-errant, is that, when 
they are prepared to engage in some great and perilous 



OF I) OX QUIXOTE. 35 

adventure to the manifest hazard of their lives, at the 
moment of attack they never think of commending 
themselves to God, as every Christian is bound to do at 
such a crisis, but rather commend themselves to their 
mistresses, and that with as much fervor and devotion 
as if they were really their God ; a thing which to me 
savors of paganism." 

"Signor," answered Don Quixote, " this can by no 
means be otherwise ; and the knight-errant who should 
act in any other manner would digress much from his 
duty ; for it is a received maxim and custom in chivalry, 
that the knight-errant, who, on the point of engaging 
in some great feat of arms, has his lady before him, 
must turn his eyes fondly and amorously towards her, 
as if imploring her favor and protection in the hazard- 
ous enterprise that awaits him ; and, even if nobody 
hear him, he must pronounce some words between his 
teeth, by which he commends himself to her with his 
whole heart ; and of this we have innumerable exam- 
ples in history. Nor is it thence to be inferred that they 
neglect commending themselves to God ; for there is 
time and opportunity enough to do 'it in the course of 
the action." 

" Notwithstanding all that," replied the traveller, 
" better had it been if the words he spent in commend- 
ing himself to his lady, in the midst of the career, had 
been employed as the duties of a Christian require ; 
particularly as I imagine that all knights-errant have 
not ladies to commend themselves to, because they are 
not all in love." 

" That cannot be," answered Don Quixote : "1 say 



36 WIT AND WISDOM 

there cannot be a knight-errant without a mistress; for 
it is as essential and as natural for them to be enamored 
as for the sky to have stars ; and most certainly, no 
history exists in which a knight-errant is to be found 
without an amour ; for, from the very circumstance of 
his being without, he would not be acknowledged as a 
legitimate knight, but a bastard who had entered the 
fortress of chivalry, not by the gate, but over the pales, 
like a thief and robber." 

"Nevertheless," said the traveller, " if I am not 
mistaken, I remember having read that Don Galaor, 
brother to the valorous Amadis de Gaul, never had a 
particular mistress, to whom he might commend him- 
self ; notwithstanding which, he was no less esteemed, 
and was a very valiant and famous knight." 

To which our Don Quixote answered : " Signor, one 
swallow does not make a summer." 1 

"If it is essential that every knight-errant be a 
lover," said the traveller, "it may well be presumed 
that you are yourself one, being of the profession ; and, 
if you do not pique yourself upon the same secrecy as 
Don Galaor, I earnestly entreat you, in the name of all 
this good company and in my own, to tell us the name, 
country, quality, and beauty of your mistress, who can- 
not but account herself happy that all the world should 
know that she is loved and served by so worthy a 
knight." 

Here Don Quixote breathed a deep sigh, and said : 
" I cannot positively affirm whether that sweet enemy 

1 Showing also his familiarity with iEsop. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 37 

of mine is pleased or not that the world should know 
1 am her servant. I can only say, in answer to what 
you so very courteously inquire of me, that her name 
is Dulcinea; her country Toboso, a town of la Mancha; 
her quality at least that of a princess, since she is my 
queen and sovereign lady ; her beauty more than human, 
since in her all the impossible and chimerical attributes 
of beauty which the poets ascribe to their mistresses 
are realized ; for her hair is gold, her forehead the Ely- 
sian Fields, her eyebrows rainbows, 4ier eyes suns, her 
cheeks roses, her lips coral, her teeth pearls, her neck, 
alabaster, her bosom marble, her hands ivory, her white- 
ness snow, and her whole person without parallel. She 
is of those of Toboso de la Mancha ; a lineage which, 
though modern, is yet such as may give a noble begin- 
ning to the most illustrious families of future ages; and 
in this let no one contradict me, unless it be on the con- 
ditions that Zerbino fixed under the arms of Orlando, 
where it said : — 

< That knight alone these arms shall move, 
AYho dares Orlando's prowess prove.' " 



THE STORY OF CHRYSOSTOM. 

" Comrades," said he, " do you know what is passing 
in the village ? " 

44 How should we know? " answered one of them. 

"Know, then," continued the youth, "that the fa- 
mous shepherd and scholar, Chrysostom, died this morn- 
ing ; and it is rumored that it was for love of that saucy 
girl Marcela, daughter of William the rich ; she who 



38 WIT AND WISDOM 

rambles about these woods and fields in the dress of a 
shepherdess." 

" For Marcela, say you? " quoth one. 

" For her, I say," answered the goatherd ; "and the 
best of it is, he has ordered in his will that they should 
bury him in the fields, like a Moor, at the foot of the 
rock, by the cork- tree fountain, which, according to re- 
port, and as they say, he himself declared was the very 
place where he first saw her. He ordered also other 
things so extravagant that the clergy say they must not 
be performed ; nor is it fit that they should, for they 
seem to be heathenish. But his great friend Ambrosio, 
the student, who accompanied him, dressed also like a 
shepherd, declares that the whole of what Chrysostom 
enjoined shall be executed : and upon this the village is 
all in an uproar ; but by what I can learn, they will at 
last do what Ambrosio and all his friends require ; and 
to-morrow they come to inter him, with great solemnity, 
in the place I mentioned ; and, in my opinion, it will be 
a sight well worth seeing; at least, I shall not fail to 
go, although I were certain of not returning to-morrow 
to the village." 

"We will do the same," answered the goatherds ; 
" and let us cast lots who shall stay behind to look after 
the goats." 

" You say well, Pedro," quoth another ; "but it will 
be needless to make use of this expedient, for I will re- 
main for you all : and do not attribute this to self-denial 
or want of curiosity in me, but to the thorn which stuck 
into my foot the other day, and hinders me from 
walking." 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 39 

•• We thank you. nevertheless,' 1 answered Pedro. 

Don Quixote requested Pedro to give him some ac- 
count of the deceased man and the shepherdess. To 
which Pedro answered. " that all he -knew was. that the 
deceased was a wealthy gentleman, and inhabitant of a 
village situate among these mountains, who had studied 
many years at Salamanca : at the end of which time he 
returned home, with the character of a very learned and. 
well read person : particularly, it was said, he under- 
stood the science of the stars, and what the sun and 
moon are doing in the sky ; for he told us punctually the 
clipse of the sun and moon.'' 

w Friend," quoth Don Quixote, ll the obscuration of 
two luminaries is called an eclipse, and not a 

But Pedro, not regarding nicetie-. went on with his 
ing. l< lie also foretold when the year would 
be plentiful or starel." 

•• Sterile, you would say, friend." quoth Don Quixote. 

fe, or starel ^red Pedro. " ill to 

same thing And. as I was saying, his father and 

friends, who gave credit to his words, became very rich 

thereby; for they followed his advice in everything. 

This year he would say. • S barley, and not wheat ; 

in this you may sow vetches, and not barley : the next 

rhere will be plenty of oil ; the three following 

there will not be a drop.' " 

" This science they call astrology." said Don Quixote. 

11 I know not how it is called." replied Pedro. " but T 

know that he knew all this, and more too. In short. 

not many months after he came from Salamanca, on a 



40 WIT AND WISDOM 

certain day he appeared dressed like a shepherd., with 
his crook and sheepskin jacket, having thrown aside his 
scholar's gown ; and with an intimate friend of Lis. 
called Ambrosio, who had been his fellow-student, and 
who now put on likewise the apparel of a shepherd. I 
forgot to tell you how the deceased Chrvsostoni was a 
great man at making verses ; insomuch that he made 
the carols for Christmas-eve and the religious plays for 
Corpus Christi, which the boys of the village repre- 
sented ; and everybody said they were most excellent. 
When the people of the village saw the two scholars so 
suddenly habited like shepherds, they were amazed, and 
could not get at the cause that induced them to make 
that strange alteration in their dress. About this time 
the father of Chrvsostoni died, and he inherited a large 
estate, in lands and goods, flocks, herds, and money, of 
all which the youth remained absolute master ; and. in- 
deed, he deserved it all. for he was a very good compan- 
ion, a charitable man, and a friend to those that were 
good, and had a face like any blessing. Afterwards it 
came to be known that he changed his habit for no other 
purpose but that he might wander about these desert 
places after that shepherdess Marcela, with whom, as 
our lad told you, he was in love. 

" As all that I have related is certain truth, I can more 
readily believe what our companion told us concerning 
the cause of Chrysostom's death ; and therefore T advise 
you, sir, not to fail being to-morrow at his funeral, 
which will be very well worth seeing ; for Chrvsostoni 
had a great many friends, and it is not half a league 
hence to the place of interment appointed by himself. " 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 41 

" I will certainly be there," said Don Quixote, " and 
I thank you for the pleasure you have given me by the 
recital of so entertaining a story." 

Morning scarcely had dawned through the balconies 
of the east, when five of the six goatherds got up and 
went" to awake Don Quixote, whom they asked whether 
he continued in his resolution of going to see the fam- 
ous interment of Chrysostom, for, if so, they would bear 
him company. Don Quixote, who desired nothing 
more, arose, and ordered Sancho to saddle and pannel 
immediately, which he did with great expedition ; and 
with the same dispatch they all set out on their journey. 

They had not gone a quarter of a league, when upon 
crossing a pathway, they saw six shepherds advancing 
towards them, clad in jackets of black sheepskin, with 
garlands of cypress and bitter rosemary on their heads ; 
each of them having in his hand a thick holly club. 
There came also with them two gentlemen on horseback, 
well equipped for travelling, who were attended by 
three lackeys on foot. Y\ nen the two parties met they 
courteously saluted each other, and finding upon in- 
quiry that all were proceeding to the place of burial, 
they continued their journey together. 

Proceeding on, they discerned through a cleft between 
two high mountains about twenty shepherds coming 
down, all clad in jerkins of black wool, and crowned 
with garlands, some of which were of yew, and some of 
cypress. Six of them carried a bier covered with vari- 
ous flowers and boughs. One of the goatherds said : 
"Those who come hither are bearing the corpse of 
Chrysostom, and at the foot of yonder mountain is the 



42 WIT AND WISDOM 

place where he desired to be interred." Four of them, 
with sharp pickaxes, were making the grave by the side 
of a sharp rock. Upon the bier lay a dead body, 
strewed with flowers, in the dress of a shepherd, appar- 
ently about thirty years oE age ; and though dead, it was 
evident that his countenance had been beautiful and 
his figure elegant. Several books and a great number 
of papers, some open and some folded, lay round him 
on the bier. All that were present, spectators as well 
as those who were opening the grave, kept a marvellous 
silence, until one said to another : ll Observe, carefully, 
Ambrosio, whether this be the place which Chrysostom 
mentioned since you wish to be so exact in executing 
his will.'' 

" It is here," answered Ambrosio ; " for in this very 
place my unhappy friend often told me of his woe. 
Here it was, he told me, that he first beheld that mor- 
tal enemy of the human race : here it was that he de- 
clared to her his no less honorable than ardent passion ; 
here it was that Marcela finally undeceived and treated 
him with such disdain that she put an end to the 
tragedy of his miserable life ; and here, in memory of 
so many misfortunes, he desired to be deposited in the 
bowels of eternal oblivion." 

Then, addressing himself to Don Quixote and the 
travellers, he thus continued : " This body, sirs, which 
you are regarding with compassionate eyes, was the 
receptacle of a soul unon which Heaven had bestowed 
an infinite portion of its treasures ; this is the body of 
Chrysostom. who was a man of rare genius, matchless 
courtesy, and unbounded kindness ; he was a phoenix 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 43 

in friendship, magnificent without ostentation, grave 
without arrogance, cheerful without meanness ; in 
short, the first in all that was good, and second to none 
in all that was unfortunate. He loved, and was ab- 
horred ; he adored, and was scorned ; he courted a sav- 
age; he solicited a statue; he pursued the wind; he 
called aloud to the desert ; he was the slave of ingrati- 
tude, whose recompense was to leave him, in the middle 
of his career of life, a prey to death, inflicted by a certain 
shepherdess, whom he endeavored to render immortal in 
the memories of men : as these papers you are looking 
at would sufficiently demonstrate, had he not ordered 
me to commit them to the flames at the same time that 
his body was deposited in the earth." 

"You would then be more rigorous and cruel to 
them," said Vivaldo, "than their master himself. 

"It is neither just nor wise to fulfil the will of him 
who commands what is utterly unreasonable. 

" Augustus Caesar deemed it wrong to consent to the 
execution of what the divine Mantuan commanded in 
his will; therefore, Signor Ambrosio, although you 
commit your friend's body to the earth, do not commit 
his writings also to oblivion ; and if he has ordained 
like a man aggrieved, do not you fulfil like one with- 
out discretion, but rather preserve these papers, in 
order that the cruelty of Marcela may be still remem- 
bered, and serve for an example to those who shall live 
in times to come, that they may avoid falling down 
the like precipices ; for I am acquainted, as well 
as my companions here, with the story of this your 
enamored and despairing friend ; we know also your 



44 WIT AND WISDOM 

friendship, and the occasion of his death, and what he 
ordered on his deathbed ; from which lamentable his- 
tory we may conclude how great has been the cruelty 
of Marcela, the love of Chrysostom, and the sincerity of 
your friendship ; and also learn the end of those who 
run headlong in the path that delirious passion presents 
to their view. Last night we heard of Chrysostom 's 
death, and that he was to be interred in this place ; led, 
therefore, by curiosity and compassion, we. turned out 
of our way, and determined to behold with our eyes 
what had interested us so much in the recital ; and, in 
return for our pity, and our desire to give aid, had it 
been possible, we beseech you, oh wise Ambrosio — at 
least I request it on my own behalf — that you will 
not burn the papers, but allow me to take some of 
them." 

Then, without waiting for the shepherd's reply, he 
stretched out his hand and took some of those that 
were nearest to him: upon which Ambrosio said: 
4t Out of civility, signor, I will consent to your keeping 
those you have taken ; but if you expect that I shall 
forbear burning those that remain, you are deceived." 

Yivaldo, desirous of seeing what the papers con- 
tained, immediately opened one of them, and found 
that it was entitled, "The Song of Despair." Am- 
brosio, hearing it, said: " This is the last thing which 
the unhappy man wrote: and that all present may con- 
ceive, signor, to what a state of misery he was reduced, 
read it aloud ; for you will have time enough while they 
are digging the grave." 

4 'That I will do with all my heart," said Yivaldo; 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 45 

and, as all the bystanders had the same desire, they 
assembled around him, and he read in an audible voice 
as follows : — 

chrysostom's soxg. 
i. 
Since, cruel maid, you force me to proclaim 
From clime to clime, the triumph of your scorn, 
Let hell itself inspire my tortured breast 
With mournful numbers, and untune my voice ; 
Whilst the sad pieces of my broken heart 
Mix with the doleful accents of my tongue, 
At once to tell my griefs and thy exploits, 
Hear, then, and listen with attentive ear — 
Not to harmonious sounds, but echoing groans, 
Fetched from the bottom of my lab'ring breast, 
To ease, in spite of thee, my raging smart. 

ii. 
The lion's roar, the howl of midnight wolves, 
The scaly serpent's hiss, the raven's croak, 
The burst of fighting winds that vex the main, 
The widowed owl and turtle's plaintive moan, 
With all the din of hell's infernal crew, 
From my grieved soul forth issue in one sound — 
Leaving my senses all confused and lost. 
For ah! no common language can express 
The cruel pains that torture my sad heart. 

in. 
Yet let not Echo bear the mournful sounds 
To where old Tagus rolls his yellow sands, 



43 WIT AND WISDOM. 

Or Betis, crowned with olives, pours his flood, 
But here, 'midst rocks and precipices deep, 
Or to obscure and silent vales removed, 
On shores by human footsteps never trod, 
Where the gay sun ne'er lifts his radiant orb, 
Or with the envenomed face of savage beasts ' 
That range the howling wilderness for food, 
Will I proclaim the story of my woes — 
Poor privilege of grief ! — while echoes hoarse 
Catch the sad tale, and spread it round the world. 

iv. 

Disdain gives death ; suspicions, true or false, 

O'erturn the impatient mind : with surer stroke 

Fell jealousy destroys ; the pangs of absence 

No lover can support ; nor firmest hope 

Can dissipate the dread of cold neglect ; 

Yet I, strange fate ! though jealous, though disdained, 

Absent, and sure of cold neglect, still live. 

And amidst the various torments I endure, 

No ray of hope e'er darted on my soul, 

Nor would I hope ; rather in deep despair 

Will I sit down, and, brooding o'er my griefs, 

Vow everlasting absence from her sight. 



Can hope and fear at once the soul possess, 
Or hope subsist with surer cause of fear ? 
Shall I, to shut out frightful jealousy, 
Close my sad eyes, when every pang I feel 
Presents the hideous phantom to my view ? 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 47 

What wretch so credulous but must embrace 
Distrust with open arms, when he beholds 
Disdain avowed, suspicions realized, 
And truth itself converted to a lie ? 
Oh, cruel tyrant of the realm of love, 
Fierce Jealous} 7 , arm with a sword this hand, 
Or thou, Disdain, a twisted cord bestow ! 



Let me not blame my fate ; but, dying, think 
The man most blest who loves, the soul most free 
That love has most enthralled. Still to my thoughts 
Let fancy paint the tyrant of my heart 
Beauteous in mind as face, and in myself 
Still let me find the source of her disdain, 
Content to suffer, since imperial Love 
By lover's woes maintains his sovereign state. 
With this persuasion, and the fatal noose, 
I hasten to the doom her scorn demands, 
And, dying, offer up my breathless corse* 
Uncrowned with garlands, to the whistling winds. 



Oh thou, whose unrelenting rigor's force 
First drove me to despair, and now to death ; 
When the sad tale of my untimely fall 
Shall reach thy ear, though it deserve a sigh, 
Veil not the heaven of those bright eyes in grief, 
Nor drop one pitying tear, to tell the world 
At length my death has triumphed o'er thy scorn : 
But dress thy face in smiles, and celebrate 



48 WIT AXD WISDOM 

With laughter and each circumstance of joy 
The festival of my disastrous end. 
Ah ! need I bid thee smile ? too well I know 
My death 9 s thy utmost glory and thy pride. 



Come, all ye phantoms of the dark abyss : 
Bring, Tantalus, thy unextinguished thirst, 
And Sisyphus, thy still returning stone ; 
Come. Tityus, with the vulture at thy heart; 
And thou, Ixion, bring thy giddy wheel; 
Xor let the toiling sisters stay behind. 
Pour your united griefs into this breast, 
And in low murmurs sing sad obsequies 
(If a despairing wretch such rites may claim) 
O'er my cold limbs, denied a winding sheet. 
And let the triple porter of the shades, 
The sister Furies, and chimeras dire, 
With notes of woe the mournful chorus join. 
Such funeral pomp alone befits the wretch 
-ent untimely to the grave. 

An 1 thou, my song, sad child of my despair, 
Complain no more ; but since thy wretched fate 
Improves her happier lot who gave thee birth, 
Be all thy sorrows buried in my tomb. 

K ne of the shepherds departed until, the grave being 
made and the papers burnt, the body of Chrysostom was 
interred, not without many tears from the spectators. 
The closed the sepulchre with a large fragment of a rock 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 49 

until a tombstone was finished, which Ambrosio said 
it was his intention to provide, and to inscribe upon it 
the following epitaph : — 

chrysostom's epitaph. 

The body of a wretched swain, 
Killed by a cruel maid's disdain, 
In this cold bed neglected lies. 

He lived, fond, hapless youth ! to prove 
Th' inhuman tyranny of love, 
Exerted in Marcela's eyes. 

Then they strewed abundance of flowers and boughs 
on the grave, and after expressions of condolence to his 
friend Ambrosio, they took their leave of him. 



All beauty does not inspire love ; some please the 
sight without captivating the affections. If all beauties 
were to enamour and captivate, the hearts of mankind 
would be in a continual state of perplexity and confu- 
sion—for beautiful objects being infinite, the senti- 
ments they inspire should also be infinite. 



True love cannot be divided, and must be voluntary 
and unconstrained. 

The viper deserves no blame for its sting, although it 
be mortal — because it is the gift of Nature. 



Beauty in a modest woman is like fire or a sharp 
sword at a distance ; neither doth the one burn nor the 
other wound those that come not too near them. 



50 WIT AXD WISDOM 

Honor and virtue are ornaments of the soul, without 
which the body, though it be really beautiful, ought not 
to be thought so. 

Let him who is deceived complain. 

Let him to whom faith is flrokeu despair. 



She who loves none can make none jealous, and 
sincerity ought not to pass for disdain. 



Much time is necessary to know people thoroughly. 



We are sure of nothing in this life. 



There is no remembrance which time does not oblit- 
erate, nor pain which death does not terminate. 



Fortune always leaves some door open in misfortune. 



Sometimes we look for one thing and rind another. 
Self-praise depreciates. 



The cat to the rat — the rat to the rope — the rope to 
the gallows. 

Out of the frying-pan into the tire. 



One man is no more than another, only inasmuch as 
he does more than another. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 51 

The lance never blunted the pen, nor the pen the 
lance. 

A mouth without teeth is like a mill without a stone. 



The dead to the bier, and the living to good cheer. 



One effect of fear is to disturb the senses, and make 
things not to appear what they really are. 



ADVENTURE OF THE DEAD BODY. 

They saw, advancing towards them, on the same 
road, a great number of lights, resembling so many 
moving stars. Sancho stood aghast at the sight of them, 
nor was Don Quixote unmoved. The one checked his 
ass and the other his horse, and both stood looking be- 
fore them with eager attention. They perceived that 
the lights were advancing towards them, and that as 
they approached nearer they appeared larger. Sancho 
trembled like quicksilver at the sight, and Don Quix- 
ote's hair bristled upon his head ; but, somewhat recov- 
ering himself, he exclaimed : " Sancho, this must be 
a most perilous adventure, wherein it will be necessary 
for me to exert my whole might and valor." 

" Woe is me ! " answered Sancho ; "should this prove 
to be an adventure of goblins, as to me it seems to be, 
where shall I find ribs to endure ? " 

tk Whatsoever phantoms they may be," said Don 
Quixote, " I will not suffer them to touch a thread of 
thy garment : for if they sported with thee before, it 
was because T could not get over the wall ; but we are 



52 wit AND WISDOM 

now upon even ground, where I can brandish my sword 
at pleasure." 

" But, if they should enchant and benumb you, as 
they did then," quoth Sancho, "what matters it whether 
we are in the open field or not ? " 

44 Notwithstanding that," replied Don Quixote, u I 
beseech thee, Sancho, to be of good courage ; for expe- 
rience shall give thee sufficient proof of mine." 

" I will, if it please God," answered Sancho; and, 
retiring a little on one side of the road, and again en- 
deavoring to discover what those walking lights might 
be, they soon after perceived a great many persons 
clothed in white. 

This dreadful spectacle completely annihilated the 
courage of Sancho, whose teeth began to chatter, as if 
seized with a quartan ague ; and his trembling and 
chattering increased as more of it appeared in view ; 
for now they discovered about twenty persons in white 
robes, all on horseback, with lighted torches in their 
hands ; behind them came a litter covered with black, 
which was followed by six persons in deep mourning ; 
the mules on which they were mounted being covered 
likewise with black down to their heels ; for that they 
w r ere mules, and not horses, was evident by the slow- 
ness of their pace. Those robed in white were mutter- 
ing to themselves in a low and plaintive tone. 

This strange vision, at such an hour, and in a place 
so uninhabited might well strike terror into Sancho's 
heart, and even into that of his master : and so it would 
have done had he been any other than Don Quixote. 
As for Sancho, his whole stock of courage was now ex- 



OF DOX QUIXOTE. 53 

hausted. But it was otherwise with his master, whose 
lively imagination instantly suggested to him that this 
must be truly a chivalrous adventure. He conceived 
that the litter was a bier, whereon was carried some 
knight sorely wounded, or slain, whose revenge was 
reserved for him alone ; he. therefore, without delay 
couched his spear, seated himself firm in his saddle, 
and with grace and spirit advanced into the middle of 
the road by which the procession must pass : and, when 
they were near, he raised his voice and said-: "Ho, 
knights, whoever ye are, halt, and give me an account 
to whom ye belong ; whence ye come, whither ye are 
going, and what it is ye carry upon that bier ; for in all 
appearance either ye have done some injury to others, 
or others to you ; and it is expedient and necessary that 
I be informed of it. either to chastise ye for the evil ye 
have done, or to revenge ye of wrongs sustained." 

11 We are in haste," answered one in the procession ; 
' k the inn is a great way off, and we cannot stay to give 
so long an account as you require." Then, spurring 
his mule, he passed forward. 

Don Quixote, highly resenting this answer, laid hold 
of his bridle and said : " Stand, and with more civility 
give me the account I demand ; otherwise I challenge 
ye all to battle." 

The mule was timid, and started so much upon his 
touching the bridle, that, rising on her hind legs, she 
threw her rider over the crupper to the ground. A 
lacquey that came on foot, seeing the man in white 
fall, began to revile Don Quixote, whose choler being 
now raised, he couched his spear, and immediately 



54 wit anl wisi 

: : : I : i d g me : : he m : n ra ers, laid h irn on the groun d 
grievously wounded: then turning about to the rest, 
:: pas worth seeing with what agility he attacked and 
defeated them : and it seemed as if wings at that in- 
stant sprung :.- Rozinante — 5: lightly and swiftly 
he moved! All the white-robed :: le, ring timor- 
[>us and soon quitted the skirmish and ran 
nvei the plain with their lighted torches, looking like 
sc many masqneraders on a carnival or festival nigl L 
The mourners were so wrapped up and muffled in the:r 
long re yes that they soold makr nc exertion ; so that 
Dod Quixote, with entire safety, assailed them all, and, 

y against their liged them to quit the 

: they thought him no man. but the devil from hell 
broke Loose uj on them : seize :he dead I 
conveying in the litter 

All this Sauchc beheld with admiration at his mas- 
ter's intrepidity, and said to himself: ' astei 
of mine is certainly as valiant and magnanimous as he 
ids 1 -." 

A burning :■: lay hi the ground near the first 
whom the mule had overthrown, by the light :: which 
Don Quix te espi . him, and going up to him. p] t I 
the point of his sj is throat, c mnianding him 

be surrender, on pain To which the fallen 

man answered: "I am surrendered enough aires 
since I cannot sti 7 of my legs is broken. I 

beseech you, sir. if you :_ g pieman, do 

not kill me would com:. gre sacri g 

::: 1 am a licentiate and have taken the Lesser 
orde: .- . " 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 55 

" Who the devil, then," said Don Quixote, "brought 
you hither, being an ecclesiastic ? " 

" Who, sir? " replied the fallen man ; "my evil for- 
tune." 

" A worse fate now threatens you," said Don Quixote, 
" unless you reply satisfactorily to all my first ques- 
tions." 

*• Your worship shall soon be satisfied," answered the 
licentiate; "and therefore you must know, sir, that 
though I told you before I was a licentiate, I am in 
fact only a bachelor of arts, and my name is Alonzo 
Lopez. I am a native of Alcovendas, and came from 
the city of Baeza with eleven more ecclesiastics, the 
same who fled with the torches. We were attending 
the corpse in that litter to the city of Segovia. It is 
that of a gentleman who died in Baeza, where he was 
deposited till now, that, as I said before, we are carry- 
ing his bones to their place of burial in Segovia, where 
he was born." 

" And who killed him ? " demanded Don Quixote. 

" God," replied the bachelor, " by means of a pesti- 
lential fever." 

" Then," said Don Quixote, " our Lord hath saved 
me the labor of revenging his death, in case he had 
been slain by any other hand. But, since he fell by 
the hand of Heaven, there is nothing expected from us 
but patience and a silent shrug ; for just the same must 
1 have done had it been His pleasure to pronounce the 
fatal sentence upon me. It is proper that your rever- 
ence should know that I am a knight of La Mancha, 
Don Quixote by name, and that it is my office and pro- 



56 WIT AND WISDOM 

fession to go over the world righting wrongs and redresa- 
ing grievances. " 

He that seeketh danger perisheth therein. 
Fear hath manv eyes. 



Evil to him that evil seeks. 



Everybody has not discretion to take things by the 
right handle. 

He loves thee well who makes thee weep. 



THE GRAND ADVENTURE AND RICH PRIZE OF MAM- 
BRING* S HELMET. 

About this time it began to rain a little, and Sancho 
proposed entering the fulling-mill : but Don Quixote 
had conceived such an abhorrence of them for th-r late 
jest, that he would by no means go in : turning, there- 
fore, to the right hand, they struck iuto another road, 
like that they had travelled through the day .before. 
Soon after, Don Quixote discovered a man on horse- 
back, who had on his head something which glitte 
if it had been of gold; and scarcely had he seen it when, 
turning to Sancho. he said. u I am of opinion, Sancho, 
there is no proverb but what is true, because they are 
all sentences drawn from experience itself, the mother of 
all the sciences : especially that which says. -Where one 
door is shut another is opened/ I say this becaos 
fortune last night shut the door against what 
sought, deceiving us with the fulling-mills, it now 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 57 

opens wide another, for a better and more certain 
adventure ; in which, if I am deceived, the fault will be 
mine, without imputing it to my ignorance of fulling- 
mills, or to the darkness of night. This I say because, 
if I mistake not, there comes one towards us who 
carries on his head Mambrino's helmet, concerning 
which thou mayest remember I swore the oath." 

" Take care, sir, what you say, and more what you 
do," said Sancho ; "for I would not wish for other 
fulling-mills, to finish the milling and mashing our 
senses." 

" The devil take thee ! " replied Don Quixote : " what 
has a helmet to do with fulling-mills ? " 

( - 1 know not," answered Sancho.; " but in faith, if I 
might talk as much as I used to do, perhaps I could 
give such reasons that your worship would see you are 
mistaken in what you say." 

"How can I be mistaken in what I say, scrupulous 
traitor ? " said Don Quixote. "Tell me, seest thou 
not yon knight coming towards us on a dapple-gray 
steed, with a helmet of gold on his head ? " 

" What I see and perceive," answered Sancho, "is 
only a man on a gray ass like mine, with something on 
his head that glitters." 

" Why, that is Mambrino's helmet," said Don Quix- 
ote ; "retire, and leave me alone to deal with him, 
and thou shalt see how, in order to save time, I shall 
conclude this adventure without speaking a word, and 
the helmet I have so much desired remain my own." 

'•I shall take care to get out of the way," replied 
Sancho; "but Heaven grant, I say again, it may not 
prove another fulling-mill adventure." 



58 WIT AND WISDOM: 

" I have already told thee. Sancho. not to mention 
those fulling-mills, nor even think of them." said Don 
Quixote : •• if thou dost — I say no more, but I vow to 
mill thy soul for thee ! '' Sancho held his peace, fear- 
ing lest his master should perform his vow, which had 
struck him all of a heap. 

Xow the truth of the matter, concerning the helmet. 
the steed, and the knight which Don Quixote saw. was 
this. There were two villages in that neighborhood, 
one of them so small that it had neither shop nor bar- 
ber, but the other adjoining to it had both : therefore 
the barber of the larger served also the less, wherein 
one customer now wanted to be let blood and another 
to be shaved : to perform which, the barber was now on 
his way. carrying with him his brass basin : and it so 
happened that while upon the road it began to rain. 
and to save his hat. which was a new one. he clapped 
the basin on his head, which beiifg lately scoured was 
seen glittering at the distance of half a league : and he 
rode on a gray ass. as Sancho had affirmed. Thus Don 
Quixote took the barber for a knight, his ass for a dap- 
ple-gray steecl. and his basin for a golden helmet : for 
whatever he saw was quickly adapted to his knightly 
extravagances : and when the poor knight drew near, 
without staying to reason the case with him. he ad- 
vanced at Rozinante's best speed, and couched his 
lance, intending to run him through and through : but. 
when close upon him. without checking the fury of his 
career, he cried out. •• Defend thyself, caitiff! or in- 
stantly surrender what is justly my due.*' 

The barber, so unexpectedly seeing this phantom 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 59 

advancing upon him, had no other way to avoid the 
thrust of the lance than to slip down from the ass ; and 
no sooner had he touched the ground than, leaping up 
nimbler than a roebuck, he scampered over the plain 
with such speed that the wind could not overtake him. 
The basin he left on the ground ; with which Don 
Quixote was satisfied, observing that the pagan had 
acted discreetly, and in imitation of the beaver, which, 
when closely pursued by the hunters, tears off with his 
teeth that which it knows by instinct to be the object 
of pursuit. He ordered Sancho to take up the helmet ; 
who, holding it in his hand, said, u Before Heaven, 
the basin is a special one, and is well worth a piece of 
eight, if it is worth a farthing." 

He then gave it to his master, who immediately 
placed it upon his head, turning it round in search of 
the visor; but not finding it he said, " Doubtless the 
pagan for whom this famous helmet was originally 
forged must have had a prodigious head — the worst of 
it is that one half is wanting." 

When Sancho heard the basin called a helmet, he* 
could not forbear laughing ; which, however, he in- 
stantly checked on recollecting his master's late choler. 

" What dost thou laugh at, Sancho?" said Don 
Quixote. 

"I am laughing," .answered he, "to think what a 
huge head the pagan had who owned that helmet, 
which is for all the world just like a barber's basin." 

"Knowest thou, Sancho, what I conceive to be the 
case ? This famous piece, this enchanted helmet, by 
some strange accident must have fallen into the posses- 



60 WIT AND WISDOM 

siod of one who, ignorant of its true value as a helmet- 
and seeing it to be of the purest gold, hath inconsider- 
ately melted down the one-half for lucre's sake, and of 
the other half made this, which, as thou say est. doth 
indeed look like a barber's basin : but to me, who know 
what it really is. its transformation is of no importance, 
for I will have it so repaired in the first town where 
there is a smith, that it shall not be surpassed nor even 
equalled by that which the god of smiths himself made 
and forged for the god of battles. In the mean time I 
will wear it as I best can. for something is better than 
nothing ; and it will be sufficient to defend me from 
stones/' 

Be brief in thy discourse, for what is prolix cannot 
be pleasing. 

Xever stand begging for that which you have the 
power to take. 

There are two kinds of lineages in the world. Some 
there are who derive their pedigree from princes and 
monarchs, whom time has gradually reduced until they 
have ended in a point, like a pyramid ; others have had 
a low origin, and have risen by degrees, until they have 
become great lords. So that the difference is, that 
some have been what they now are not, and others are 
now what thev were not before. 



A leap from a hedge is better than the prayer of a 
bishop. 

A snatch from behind a bush is better than th« 
prayer of good men. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 61 

Customs come not all together, neither were they all 
invented at once. 

Who sings in grief procures relief. 



Let every one turn himself round, and look at home, 
and he will find enough to do. 



To be grateful for benefits received is the duty of 
honest men — one of the sins that most offendeth God 
is ingratitude. 

Benefits conferred on base-minded people are like 
drops of water thrown into the sea. 



Retreating is not running away, nor is staying wis- 
dom when the* danger overbalances the hope ; and it is 
the part of wise men to secure themselves to-day for 
to-morrow, and not to venture all upon one throw. 



The wicked are always ungrateful. 



Necessity urges desperate measures. 



Know'st thou, O love, the pangs that I sustain, 
Or, cruel, dost thou view those pangs unmov'd ? 
Or has some hidden cause its influence proved, 

By all this sad variety of pain ? 



62 WIT AXD WISDOM 

Love is a god, then surely he must know, 
And knowing, pity wretchedness like mine ; 

From other hands proceeds the fatal blow — 
Is then the deed, unpitying Chloe. thine ? 

Ah. no ! a form so exquisitely fair 

A soul so merciless can ne'er enclose. 

From Heaven's high will my fate resistless flows 
And I. submissive, must its vengeance bear. 

Nought but a miracle my life can save. 

And snatch its destined victim from the grave. 



The devil is subtle, and lays stumbling-blocks in our 
way, over which we fall without knowing how. 



In all misfortunes the greatest consolation is a sympa- 
thizing friend. 

Riches are but of little avail against the ills inflicted 
by the hand of Heaven. 



He that buys and denies, his own purse belies. 



Till you hedsre in the sky, the starlings will flv. 



If- a painter would be famous in his art. he must en- 
deavor to copy after the originals of the most excellent 
masters ; the same rule is also applicable to all the other 
arts and sciences which adorn the commonwealth; thus, 
whoever aspires to a reputation for prudence and pa- 
tience, must imitate Ulysses, in whose person and toils 
Homer draws a lively picture of those qualities ; so also 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 63 

Virgil, in the character of JEneas. delineates filiaj piety, 
courage, and martial skill, being representations of not 
what they really were, but of what they ought to be. in 
order to serve as models of virtue to succeeding gen- 
erations. 

The absent feel and fear every ill. 



•• I have heard say," quoth Sancho, " ' from hell there 
is no retention.' " 

••I know not," said Don Quixote, "what retention 
means." 

•• Retention," answered Sancho. "means that he who 
is once in hell never does, nor ever can. get out again. 
I must strip off all my armor, and remain as naked as I 
was born, if I should determine upon imitating Orlando, 
in my penance, instead of Amadis." 

While they were thus discoursing, they arrived at the 
foot of a high mountain, which stood separated from 
several others that surrounded it. as if it had been hewn 
out from them. Near its base ran a gentle stream, 
that watered a verdant and luxuriant vale, adorned 
with many wide-spreading trees, plants, and wild flow- 
ers of various hues. This was the spot in which the 
knight of the sorrowful figure chose to perform his pen- 
ance : and. while contemplating the scene, he thus broke 
forth in a loud voice : — 

•• This is the place. O ye heavens ! which T select and 
appoint for bewailing the misfortune in which ye have 
involved me. This is the spot where my flowing tears 
shall increase the waters of this crystal stream, and mv 



61 WIT AXD WISDOM 

sighs, continual and deep, shall incessantly move the 
foliage of these lofty trees, in testimony and token of 
the pain my persecuted heart endures. O ye rural 
deities, whoever ye be, that inhabit these remote des- 
erts, give ear to the complaints of an unhappy lover, 
whom long absence and some pangs of jealousy have 
driven to bewail himself among these rugged heights, 
and to complain of the cruelty of that ungrateful fair, 
the utmost extent and ultimate perfection of all human 
beauty! O ye wood-nymphs and dryads, who are accus- 
tomed to inhabit the dark recesses of the mountain 
groves (so may the nimble and lascivious satyrs, by 
whom ye are wooed in vain, never disturb your sweet 
repose), assist me to lament my hard fate, or at least be 
not weary of hearing my groans ! O my Dulcinea del 
Toboso, light of my darkness, glory of my pain, the 
north-star of my travels, and overruling planet of my 
fortune (so may Heaven listen to all thy petitions), con- 
sider, I beseech thee, to what a condition thy absence 
hath reduced me, and reward me as my fidelity deserves ! 
O ye solitary trees, who henceforth are to be the com- 
panions of my retirement, wave gently your branches, 
to indicate that my presence does not offend you ! And, 
O thou my squire, agreeable companion in my prosperous 
and adverse fortunes, carefully imprint on thy memory 
what thou shalt see me here perform, that thou mayest 
recount and recite it to her who is the sole cause of all ! " 



" There is no reason why you should threaten me," 
quoth Sancho, " for I am not a man to rob or murder 
anybody. Let every man's fate kill him, or God who 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 65 

made him. My master is doing a certain penance 
much to his liking in the midst of yon mountains." 



Don Quixote took out the pocket-book, and, stepping 
aside, began with much composure to write the letter ; 
and having finished, he called Sancho and said he would 
read it to him that he might have it by heart, lest he 
might perchance lose it by the way, for everything was 
to be feared from his evil destiny. To which Sancho 
answered : " Write it, sir, two or three times in the 
book, and give it me, and I will take good care of it ; 
but to suppose that I can carry it in my memory is a 
folly, for mine is so bad that I often forget my own 
name. Your worship, however, may read it to me. I 
shall be glad to hear it, for it must needs be very much 
to the purpose." 

" Listen, then," said Don Quixote, " this is what I 
have written ": — 

dox Quixote's letter to dulcinea del toboso. 

High and Sovereign Lady : — He who is stabbed 
by the point of absence, and pierced by the arrows of 
love, O sweetest Dulcinea del Toboso, greets thee with 
wishes for that health which he enjoys not himself. 
If thy beauty despise me, if thy worth favor me not, 
and if thy disdain still pursue me, although inured to 
suffering, I shall ill support an affliction which is not 
only severe but lasting. My good squire Sancho will 
tell thee, O ungrateful fair and most beloved foe, to 
what a state I am reduced on thy account. If it be 
thy pleasure to relieve me, I am thine ; if not, do 

6 



66 WIT AND WISDOM 

what seemeth good to thee, — for by my death I shall 
at once appease thy cruelty and my own passion. 
Until death thine, 
The Knight of the Sorrowful Figure. 



One should not talk of halters in the house of the 
hanged. 

LINES DISCOVERED ON THE BARK OF A TREE, AD- 
DRESSED TO DULCINEA DEL TOBOSO. 

Ye lofty trees, with spreading arms, 

The pride and shelter of the plain ; 
Ye humble shrubs and flowery charms, 

Which here in springing glory reign ! 
If my complaints may pity move, 
Hear the sad story of my love ! 

While with me here you pass your hours, 
Should you grow faded with my cares, 

I '11 bribe you with refreshing showers ; 
You shall be watered wdth my tears. 

Distant, though present in idea, 

I mourn my absent Dulcinea 

Del Toboso. 

Love's truest slave, despairing, chose 
This lonely wild, this desert plain, 

This silent witness of the woes 

Which he, though guiltless, must sustain. 

Unknowing why these pains he bears, 

He groans, he raves, and he despairs. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 67 

With lingering fires Love racks my soul : 
In vain I grieve, in vain lament ; 

Like tortured fiends I weep, I howl, 
And burn, yet never can repent. 

Distant, though present in idea, 

I mourn my absent Dulcinea 

Del Toboso. 

While I through Honor's thorny ways, 

In search of distant glory rove, 
Malignant fate my toil repays 

With endless woes and hopeless love. 
Thus I on barren rocks despair, 
And curse my stars, yet bless my fair. 

Love, armed with snakes, has left his dart, 
• And now does like a fury rave ; 

And scourge and sting on every part, 
And into .madness lash his slave. 

Distant, though present in idea, 

I mourn my absent Dulcinea 

Del Toboso. 

When the stars are adverse, what is human power ? 



Who is there in the world that can boast of having 
fathomed and thoroughly penetrated the intricate and 
ever-changing nature of a woman ? 



What causes all my grief and pain ? 

Cruel disdain. 
What aggravates my misery ? 

Accursed jealousy. 



68 WIT AXD WISDOM 

How has my soul its patience lost ? 

By tedious absence crossed. 
Alas ! no balsam can be found 
To heal the grief of such a wound. 
When absence, jealousy, and scorn 
Have left me hopeless and forlorn. 

What in my breast this grief could move ? 

Xeglected love. 
What doth my fond desires withstand ? 

Fate's cruel hand. 
And what confirms my misery ? 

Heaven's fixed decree. 
Ah me ! my boding fears portend. 
This strange disease my life will end : 
For die I must, when three such foes, 
Heaven, fate, and love, my bliss oppose. 

My peace of mind, what can restore ? 

Death's welcome hour. 
What gains love's joys most readily *? 

Fickle inconstancy. 
Its pains what medicine can assuage? 

Wild frenzy's rage. 
'Tis therefore little wisdom, sure, 
For such a grief to seek a cure, 
That knows no better remedy 
Than frenzy, death, inconstancy. 

The hour, the season, the solitude, the voice, and the 
skill of the singer, all conspired to impress the auditors 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 69 

with wonder and delight, and they remained for some 
time motionless, in expectation of hearing more ; but, 
finding the silence continue, they resolved to see who 
it was who had sung so agreeably, and -were again 
detained by the same voice regaling their ears with 
this sonnet : — 

Friendship, thou hast with nimble flight 
Exulting gained the empyreal height, 
In heaven to dwell, while here below 
Thy semblance reigns in mimic show ; 
From thence to earth, at thy behest, 
Descends fair peace, celestial guest! 
Beneath whose veil of shining hue 
Deceit oft lurks, concealed from view. 

Leave, friendship ! leave thy heavenly seat, 

Or strip thy livery off the cheat. 

If still he wears thy borrowed smiles, 

And still unwary truth beguiles, 

Soon must this dark terrestrial ball 

Into its first confusion fall. 



What is sudden death to a protracted life of anguish? 



"0 heavens ! have I then at last found a place which 
may arford a secret grave for this wretched body ? Yes, 
if the silence of this rocky desert deceive me not, here 
I may die in peace. Ah. woe is me ! Here at least I 
may freely pour forth my lamentations to Heaven, and 
shall be less wretched than among men, from whom I 
should in vain seek counsel, redress, or consolation." 



7 WIT AND Wl&l 

One evil produces another, and misfortunes nevei 
come singly. 

O memory, thou mortal enemy of my re| : se where- 
fore now recall to me the incomparable beauty of that 
adored enemy of mine ! Were it not better, thou cruel 
faculty! to represent tc my imagination her conduct at 
that period — that moved by s< flagrant an injury, I 
may strive if not to avenge it. a: least to end this life 
of pain ? 

Foi nc g-:ir~ance can harass or drive the afflicted to 
such extremity, vrhile life remains, as to make them 
shut their ears against that counsel which is given with 
the most humane and benevolent intention. 



Music lulls the disordered thoughts, and elevates the 
Tired spirits . 

All women, let them be never so homely, are pleased 
to hear themselves celebrated f<: : 



The eves of love or of idleness are like those of a lvnx. 



ie mischance invites another, and the end of one 
misf >i : ..-__ - Ls : ften the be^nning of a worse 



Among friends we ought not to stand upon fa 



No man can command the first emotions <:: 
i :ns. 



OF DOX QUIXOTE. 71 

Every new fault deserves a new penance. 



Where is the wonder one devil should be like another ? 



Gifts are good after Easter. 



A sparrow in the hand is worth more than a bustard 
on the wing. 

He that will not when he may, when he would he shall 
have nay. 

Men may prove and use their friends, and not presume 
upon their friendship in things contrary to the decrees 
of Heaven. 

A man dishonored is worse than dead. 



" I have heard it preached," quoth Sancho, "that 
God is to be loved with this kind of love, for Himself 
alone, without our being moved to it by hope of reward 
or fear of punishment; though, for my part, I am in- 
clined to love and serve Him for what He is able to do 
for me." 

"The devil take thee for a bumpkin," said Don 
Quixote ; " thou sayest ever and anon such apt things 
that one would almost think thee a scholar." 

" And yet, by my faith," quoth Sancho, "I cannot 
so much as read." 

Squires and knight-err ants are subject to much hunger 
and ill-luck. 



72 WIT AXD WISDOM 

A man on whom Heaven has bestowed a beautiful 
wife should be as cautious respecting the friends he in- 
troduces at home as to her female acquaintance abroad. 



If from equal parts we take equal parts, those that 
remain are equal. 

To attempt voluntarily that which must be productive 
of evil rather than good, is madness and folly. Difficult 
works are undertaken for the sake of Heaven, or of the 
world, or both : the first are such as are performed by 
the saints while they endeavor to live the life of angels 
in their human frames ; such as are performed for love 
of the world are encountered by those who navigate the 
boundless ocean, traverse different countries and various 
climates to acquire what are called the goods of fortune. 
Those^who assail hazardous enterprises for the sake of 
both God and man are brave soldiers, who no sooner 
perceive in the enemy's wall a breach made by a single 
cannon-ball, than, regardless of danger and full of zeal 
in the defence of their faith, their country, and their 
king, they rush where death in a thousand shapes awaits 
them. These are difficulties commonly attempted, and, 
though perilous, are glorious and profitable. 



TEARS OF ST. PETER. 



Shame, grief, remorse, in Peter's breast increase, 
Soon as the blushing morn his crime betrays ; 

AYhen most unseen, then most himself he sees, 
And with due horror all his soul survevs. 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 73 

For a great spirit needs no censuring eyes 

To wound his soul, when conscious of a fault ; 

But, self-condemn'd, and e'en self-punished, lies, 
And dreads no witness like upbraiding Thought. 



Expect not, therefore, by concealment, to banish sor- 
row ; for, even though you weep not openly, tears of 
blood w 7 ill flow from your heart. So wept that simple 
doctor, who, according to the poet, would venture to 
make a trial of the cup which the more prudent Rin- 
aldo wisely declined doing: and although this be a poet- 
ical fiction, there is a concealed moral in it worthy to 
be observed and followed. 



There is no jewel in the world so valuable as a chaste 
and virtuous woman. The honor of women consists in 
the good opinion of the world ; and since that of your 
wife is eminently good, why would you have it ques- 
tioned ? Woman, my friend, is an imperfect creature ; 
and, instead of laying stumbling-blocks in her way, we 
should clear the path before her, that she may readily 
attain that virtue which is essential in her. Natural- 
ists inform us that the ermine is a little creature with 
extremely white fur, and that when the hunters are in 
pursuit of it, they spread with mire all the passes lead- 
ing to its haunts, to which they then drive it, knowing 
that it will submit to be taken rather than defile itself. 
The virtuous and modest woman is an ermine, and her 
character whiter than snow; and in order to preserve it, 
a very different method must be taken from that which 
is used with the ermine. 



74 WIT AND WISDOM 

The reputation of a woman may also be compared to 
a mirror of crystal, shining and bright, but liable to be 
sullied by every breath that comes near it. The vir- 
tuous woman must be treated like a relic — adored but 
not handled ; she should be guarded and prized, like a 
tine flower-garden, the beauty and fragrance of which 
the owner allows others to enjoy only at a distance, and 
through iron rails. 

The devil, when he would entrap a cautious person, 
assumes an angel form till he carries his point, when 
the cloven foot appears. 



He who builds on impossibilities should be denied 
the privilege of any other foundation. 



Hope is ever born with love. 



Castles should not be left without governors, nor 



armies without generals. 



The passion of love is to be conquered by flight 
alone; it is vain to contend with a power which, though 
human, requires more than human strength to subdue. 



SOXXET. 

In the dead silence of the peaceful night, 
When others' cares are hushed in soft repose, 
The sad account of my neglected woes 

To conscious Heaven and Chloris I recite. 

And when the sun, with his returning light, 



OF DOX QUIXOTE. (5 

Forth from the east his radiant journey goes, 

With accents such as sorrow only knows, 
My griefs to tell is all my poor delight. 
And when bright Phoebus from his starry throne 

Sends rays direct upon the parched soil, 
Still in the mournful tale I persevere : 

Returning night renews my sorrow's toil ; 
And though from morn to night I weep and moan, 
Nor Heaven nor Chloris my complainings hear. 



Are we to take all that enamored poets sing for truth ? 



SOXXET. 



Believe me. nymph. I feel tlr impending blow, 

And glory in the near approach of death ; 

For when thou see'st my corse devoid of breath. 
My constancy and truth thou sure wilt know, 
Welcome to me Oblivion's shade obscure ! 

Welcome the loss of fortune, life, and fame ! 

But thy loved features, and thy honored name. 
Deep graven on my .heart, shall still endure. 
And these, as sacred relics, will I keep 

Till that sad moment when to endless night 

My long-tormented soul shall take her flight 
Alas for him who on the darkened deep 

Floats idly, sport of the tempestuous tide. 

Xo port to shield him, and no star to guide ! 



He who gives freely gives twice. 



76 WIT AXD WISDOM 

That which is lightly gained is little valued. 



For love sometimes flies and sometimes walks — 
runs with one person, and goes leisurely with another : 
some he warms, and some he burns : some he wounds, 
and others he kills : in one and the same instant he 
forms and accomplishes his projects. He often in the 
morning lays siege to a fortress which in the evening 
surrenders to him — for no force is able to resist him. 



Heaven always favors the honest purpose. 



Rank is not essential in a wile. 



True nobility consists in virtue. 



It is no derogation to rank to elevate beauty adorned 
with virtue. 

Time will discover. 

" Certainly, gentlemen, if we rightly consider it, 
those who make knight-errantry their profession often 
meet with surprising and most stupendous adventures. 
For what mortal in the world, at this time entering 
within this castle, and seeing us sit together as we do, 
will imagine and believe us to be the same persons 
which in reality we are? Who is there that can judge 
that this lady by my side is the great queen we all 
know her to be. and that I am that Knight of the Sor- 
rowful Figure so universally made known by fame ? 
It is. then, no longer to be doubted but that this exer- 
cise and profession surpasses all others that have been 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 77 

invented by man, and is so much the more honorable as 
it is more exposed to dangers. Let none presume to 
tell me that the pen is preferable to the sword. This 
may be ascertained by regarding the end and object 
each of them aims at ; for that intention is to be most 
valued which makes the noblest end its object. The 
scope and end of learning, I mean human learning (in 
this place I speak not of divinity, whos,e aim is to guide 
souls to Heaven, for no other can equal a design so in- 
finite as that), is to give a perfection to distribute jus- 
tice, bestowing upon every one his due, and to procure 
and cause good laws to be observed ; an end really gen- 
erous, great, and worthy of high commendation, but 
yet not equal to that which knight-errantry tends to, 
whose object and end is peace, which is the greatest 
blessing man can wish for in this life. And, therefore, 
the first good news that the world received was that 
which the angels brought in the night — the beginning 
of our day — when they sang in the air, ' Glory to God 
on high, peace on earth, and to men good- will.' And 
the only manner of salutation taught by our great Mas- 
ter to His friends and favorites was, that entering any 
house they should say, ' Peace be to this house. ' And 
at other times He said to them, ' My peace I give to 
you.' ' My peace I leave to you,' ' Peace be among you.' 
A jewel and legacy worthy of such a donor, a jewel 
so precious that without it there can be no happiness 
either in earth or heaven. This peace is the true end of 
war ; for arms and war are one and the same thing. Al- 
lowing, then, this truth, that the end of war is peace, and 
that in this it excels the end of learning, let us now weigh 



78 WIT AXD WISDOM 

the bodily labors the scholar undergoes against those 
the warrior suffers, and then see which are the greatest. 
*• These, then. I say. are the sufferings and hardships 
a scholar endures. First, poverty (not that they are all 
poor, but to urge the worst that may be in this case) ; 
and having said he endures poverty, methinks nothing 
more need be urged to express his misery ; for he that 
is poor enjoys no happiness, but labors under this pov- 
erty in all its parts, at one time in hunger, at another in 
cold, another in nakedness, and sometimes in all of 
them together ; yet his poverty is not so great, but still 
he eats; though it be later than the usual hour, and of 
the scraps of the rich ; neither can the scholar miss of 
somebody's stove or fireside to sit by ; where, though he 
be not thoroughly heated, yet he may gather warmth, 
and at last sleep away the night under a roof. I -will 
not touch upon other less material circumstances, as 
the want of linen, and scarcity of shoes, thinness and 
baldness of their clothes, and their surfeiting when 
good fortune throws a feast in their way ; this is the 
difficult and uncouth path they tread, often stumbling 
and falling, yet rising again and pushing on, till they 
attain the preferment they aim at ; whither being ar- 
rived, we have seen many of them, who, having been 
carried by a fortunate gale through all these quick- 
sands, from a chair govern the world ; their hunger 
being changed into satiety, their cold into comfortable 
warmth, their nakedness into magnificence of apparel, 
and the mats they used to lie upon, into stately beds of 
costly silks and softest linen, a reward due to their vir- 
tue. But. yet their sufferings, being compared to those 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 79 

the soldier endures, appear much inferior, as I shall in 
the next place make out." 

Don Quixote, after a short pause, continued his dis- 
course thus : — " Since, in speaking of the scholar, we 
began with his poverty and its several branches, let us 
see whether the soldier be richer. We shall find that 
poverty itself is not more poor : for he depends on his 
wretched pay, which comes late, and sometimes never ; 
or upon what he can pillage, at the imminent risk of 
his life and conscience. Such often is his nakedness 
that his slashed buff-doublet serves him both for finery 
and shirt; and in the midst of winter, on the open 
plain, he has nothing to warm him but the breath of 
his mouth, w T hich, issuing from an empty place, must 
needs be cold. Brit let us wait, and see whether night 
will make amends for these inconveniences : if his bed be 
too narrow it is his own fault, for be may measure out 
as many feet of earth as he pleases, and roll himself 
thereon at pleasure without fear of rumpling the sheets. 
Suppose the moment arrived of taking his degree — I 
mean, suppose the day of battle come : his doctoral cap 
may then be of lint, to cover some gun-shot wound, 
which perhaps has gone through his temples, or deprived 
him of an arm or leg. 

" And even suppose that Heaven in its mercy should 
preserve him alive and unhurt, he will probably remain 
as poor as ever ; for he must be engaged and victorious 
in many battles before he can expect high promotion ; 
and such good fortune happens only by a miracle : for 
you will allow, gentlemen, that few are the number of 
those that have reaped the reward of their services, 



80 WIT AND WISDOM 

compared with those who have perished in war. The 
dead are countless ; whereas those who survived to be re- 
warded may be numbered with three figures. Xot so 
with scholars, who by their salaries (I will not say 
their perquisites) are generally handsomely provided 
for. Thus the labors of the soldier are greater, al- 
though his reward is less. It may be said in answer to 
this, that it is easier to reward two thousand scholars 
than thirty thousand soldiers : for scholars are rewarded 
by employments which must of course be given to men 
of their profession ; whereas the soldier can only be re- 
warded by the property of the master whom he serves ; 
and this defence serves to strengthen my argument. 

" But, waiving this point, let us consider the com- 
parative claims to pre-eminence : for the partisans of 
each can bring powerful arguments in support of their 
own cause. It is said in favor of letters that without 
them arms could not subsist ; for war must have its 
laws, and laws come within the province of the learned. 
But it may be alleged in reply, that arms are necessary 
to the maintenance of law ; by arms the public roads 
are protected, cities guarded, states defended, kingdoms 
preserved, and the seas cleared of corsairs and pirates. 
In short, without arms there would be no safety for 
cities, commonwealths or kingdoms. Besides, it is 
just to estimate a pursuit in proportion to the cost, of its 
attainment. Xow it is true that eminence in learning 
is purchased by time, watching, hunger, nakedness, 
vertigo, indigestion, and many other inconveniences 
already mentioned ; but a man who rises gradually to 
be a good soldier endures all these, and far more. What 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 81 

is the hunger and poverty which menace the man of 
letters compared with the situation of the soldier, who, 
besieged in some fortress, and placed as sentinel in 
some ravelin or cavalier, perceives that the enemy is 
mining toward the place where he stands, and yet he 
must on no account stir from his post or shun the im- 
minent danger that threatens him? All that he can do 
in such a case is to give notice to his officer of what 
passes, that he may endeavor to counteract it; in the 
meantime he must stand his ground, in momentary ex- 
pectation of being mounted to the clouds without 
wings, and then dashed headlong to the earth. And if 
this be thought but a trifling danger, let us see whether 
it be equalled or exceeded by the encounter of two 
galleys, prow to prow, in the midst of the white 
sea, locked and grappled together, so that there is "no 
more room left for the soldier than the two-foot plank 
at the break-head ; and though he sees as many threat- 
ening ministers of death before him as there are pieces 
of artillery pointed at him from the opposite side, not 
the length of a lance from his body ; though he knows 
that the first slip of his foot sends him to the bottom of 
the sea ; yet, with an undaunted heart, inspired by 
honor, he exposes himself as a mark to all their fire, 
and endeavors by that narrow pass to force his way into 
the enemy's vessel ! And, what is most worthy of ad- 
miration,- no sooner is one fallen, never to rise again in 
this world, than another takes his place ; and if he also 
fall into the sea, which lies in wait to devour him, an- 
other and another succeeds without intermission ! In 
all the extremities of war there is no example of cour- 

6 



82 WIT AND WISDOM 

age and intrepidity to exceed this. Happy those ages 
which knew not the dreadful fury of artillery ! — those 
instruments of hell (where, I verily believe, the inveaf 
tor is now receiving the reward of his diabolical inge- 
nuity), by means of which the cowardly and the base 
can deprive the bravest soldier of life. While a gallant 
spirit animated with heroic ardor is pressing to glory, 
comes a chance ball, sent by one who perhaps fled in 
alarm at the flash of his own accursed weapon, and in 
an instant cuts short the life of him who deserved to 
live for ages ! When I consider this, I could almost 
repent having undertaken this profession of knight- 
errantry in so detestable an age ; for though no danger 
can daunt me, still it gives me some concern to think 
that pow r der and lead may suddenly cut short my career 
of glory. But Heaven's will be done ! I have this sat- 
isfaction, that I shall acquire the greater fame if I suc- 
ceed, inasmuch as the perils by which I am beset are 
greater than those to which the knights-errant of past 
ages were exposed." 

The army is a school in which the miser becomes 
generous, and the generous prodigal. 



A covetous soldier is a monster which is rarely seen. 



Liberality may be carried too far in those w T ho have 
children to inherit from them. 



How seldom promises made in slavery are remem- 
bered after a release from bondage. 



OF DGX QUIXOTE. 83 

Good fortune seldom comes pure and single, unat- 
tended by some troublesome or unexpected circum- 
stance. 

Though we love the treason we abhor the traitor. 



What transport in life can equal that which a man 
feels on the restoration of his liberty ? 



" The church, the court, or the sea : ? * as if it more 
fully expressed the following advice. — He that would 
make his fortune, ought either to dedicate his time to 
the church, go to sea as a merchant, or attach himself 
to the court: for it is commonly observed, that "the 
king's crumb is worth the baron's batch.'' 1 



SONNET UPON THE GOLETA. 

O happy souls, by death at length set free 
From tne dark prison of mortality. 
By glorious deeds, whose memory never dies — 
From earth's dim spot exalted to the skies ! 
What fury stood in every eye confessed ! 
What generous ardor tired each manly breast. 
While slaughtered heaps distained the sandy shore, 
And the tinged ocean blushed with hostile gore ! 
O'erpowered by numbers, gloriously ye fell : 
Death only could such matchless courage quell : 

1st dying thus ye triumphed o'er your foes — ■ 
Its tame the world, its glory heaven, bestows ! 

1 The kind's morsel is better than the lord's bounty. 



84 WIT AND WISDOM 

SONNET OX THE FORT. 

From 'midst these walls, whose ruins spread around, 

And scattered clods that heap the ensanguined ground, 

Three thousand souls of warriors, dead in fight, 

To better regions took their happy flight. 

Long with unconquered souls they bravely stood, 

And fearless shed their unavailing blood : 

Till, to superior force compelled to yield, 

Their lives they quitted in the well-fought field. 

This fatal soil has ever been the tomb 

Of slaughtered heroes, buried in its womb : 

Yet braver bodies did it ne'er sustain, 

Xor send more glorious soul the skies to gain. 



i. 

Tossed in a sea of doubts and fears, 
Love's hapless mariner, I sail, 

Where no inviting port appears, 
To screen me from the stormy gale. 

ii. 

At distance viewed, a cheering star 

Conducts me through the swelling tide ; 

A brighter luminary, far, 

Than Palinurus e'er descried. 

in. 

My soul, attracted by its blaze. 

Still follows where it points the way, 
And while attentively I ,eaze, 

Considers not how far I stray. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 85 



IV. 



But female pride, reserved and shy, 
Like clouds that deepen on the day, 

Oft shroud it from my longing eye, 
When most I need the genial ray. 



v. 



O lovely star, so pure and bright ! 

Whose splendor feeds my vital fire, 
The moment thou deny'st thy light, 

Thy lost adorer will expire ! 



SONG. 

. Unconquered hope, thou bane of fear, 

And last deserter of the brave, 
Thou soothing ease of mortal care, 

Thou traveller beyond the grave ; 
Thou soul of patience, airy food, 
Bold warrant of a distant good, 

Reviving cordial, kind decoy ; 
Though fortune frowns and friends depart, 

Though Silvia flies me, flattering joy, 
Nor thou, nor love, shall leave my doting heart. 

No slave, to lazy ease resigned, 

E'er triumphed over noble foes ; 
The monarch fortune most is kind 

To him who bravely dares oppose. 
They say, Love rates his blessing high, 
But who would prize an easy joy ? 



5 WIT AND WISDOM 

My scornful fair then I '11 pursue, 
Though the coy beauty still denies ; 

I grovel now on earth, 't is true, 
But, raised by her, the humble slave may rise. 

Might overcomes. 



Him to whom God giveth may St. Peter bless. 



Diligence is the mother of success, and in many 
important causes experience hath shown that the assi- 
duity of the solicitor hath brought a very doubtful suit 
to a very fortunate issue ; but the truth of this maxim 
is nowhere more evinced than in war, where activity 
and despatch anticipate the designs of the enemy, and 
obtain the victory before he has time to put himself in 
a posture of defence. 

The common adage that delays are dangerous acts as 
spurs upon the resolution. 



There are more tricks in the town than are dreamt 
of. 

Virtue is always more persecuted by the wicked than 
beloved by the righteous. 



Virtue is so powerful that of herself she will, in spite 
of all the necromancy possessed by the first inventor, 
Zoroaster, come off conqueror in every severe trial, and 
shine refulgent in the world, as the sun shines in the 
heavens. 



OF DON QUIXOTE, 87 

Fables should not be composed to outrage the under- 
standing ; but by making the wonderful appear possible, 
and creating in the mind a pleasing interest, they may 
both surprise and entertain ; which cannot be effected 
where no regard is paid to probability. I have never yet 
found a regular, well-connected fable in any of our books 
of chivalry — they are all inconsistent and monstrous ; 
the style is generally bad ; and they abound with incre- 
dible exploits, lascivious amours, absurd sentiment, and 
miraculous adventures ; in short, they should be ban- 
ished every Christian country. 



Just are virtue's fears where envy domineers. 



Bounty will not stay where niggards bear the sway. 



Fortune turns faster than a mill-wheel, and those who 
were yesterday at top, may find themselves at bottom 
to-day. 

Every one is the son of his own works. 



The mind receives pleasure from the beauty and con- 
sistency of what is presented to the imagination, not 
from that which is incongruous and unnatural. 



Fiction is always the better the nearer it resembles 
truth, and agreeable in proportion to the probability it 
bears and the doubtful credit which it inspires. Where- 
fore, all' such fables ought to be suited to the under- 
standing of those who read them, and written so as 



88 WIT AND WISDOM 

that, by softening impossibilities, smoothing what is 
rough, and keeping the mind in suspense, they may sur- 
prise, agreeably perplex, and entertain, creating equal 
admiration and delight : and these never can be excited 
by authors who forsake probability and imitation, in 
which the perfection of writing consists. 

. Epics may be written in prose as well as verse. 



To assert that there never was an Amadis in the 
world, nor any other of the knights-adventurers of whom 
so many records remain, is to say that the sun does not 
enlighten, the frost produce cold, nor the earth yield 
sustenance. 

The approbation of the judicious few should far out- 
weigh the censure of the ignorant. 



An author had better be applauded by the few that 
are wise, than laughed at by the many that are foolish. 



Our modern plays, not only those which are formed 
upon fiction, but likewise such as are founded on the 
truth of history, are all, or the greatest part, universally 
known to be monstrous productions, without either head 
or tail, and yet received with pleasure by the multitude, 
who approve and esteem them as excellent performances, 
though they are far from deserving that title : and if 
the authors who compose, and the actors who represent 
them, affirm that this and no other method is to be prac- 
tised, because the multitude must be pleased ; that 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 89 

those which bear the marks of contrivance, and pro- 
duce a fable digested according to the rules of art. serve 
only- for entertainment to four or five people of taste, 
who discern the beauties of the plan, which utterly es- 
fche rest of the audience ; and that it is better for 
them to gain a comfortable livelihood by the many, than 
starve upon reputation with the few : at this rate, said 
I". if I should finish my book, after having scorched 
every hair in my whiskers in poring over it, to pre- 
those rules and precepts already mentioned, I 
it fare at last like the sagacious botcher, who sewed 
for nothing and found his customers in thread. 



It is not a sufficient excuse to say that the object in 
permitting theatrical exhibitions being chiefly to pro- 
vide innocent recreation for the people, it is unnecessary 
to limit and restrain the dramatic author within strict 
rules of composition ; for I affirm that the same object 
i>. beyond all comparison, more effectually attained by 
legitimate works. The spectator of a good drama is 
amused, admonished, and improved by what is divert- 
in -y. affecting, and moral in the representation : he is 
cautioned against deceit, corrected by example, incensed 
against vice, stimulated to the love of virtue. 



Comedy, according to Tolly, ought to be the mirror 
of life, the exemplar of manners, and picture of truth ; 
whereas those that are represented in this age are mir- 
of absurdity, exemplars of folly, and pictures of 
lewdness : for sure, nothing can be more absurd in a 
dramatic performance, than to see the person, who, in 



90 WIT AND WISDOM 

the first scene of the first act, was produced a child in 
swaddling-clothes, appear a full-grown man with a 
beard in the second ; or to represent an old man active 
and valiant, a young soldier cowardly, a footman elo- 
quent, a page a counsellor, a king a porter, and a 
princess a scullion. Then what shall we say concern- 
ing their management of the time and place in which 
the actions have, or may be supposed to have happened ? 
I have seen a comedy, the first act of wdiich was laid 
in Europe, the second in Asia, and the third was fin- 
ished in Africa; nay, had there been a fourth, the 
scene w T ould have shifted to America, so that the fable 
would have travelled through all the four divisions of the 
globe. If imitation be the chief aim of comedy, how 
can any ordinary understanding be satisfied with see- 
ing an action that passed in the time of King Pepin 
and Charlemagne, ascribed to the Emperor Heraclius, 
who, being the principal personage, is represented, 
like Godfrey of Boulogne, carrying the cross into Jeru- 
salem, and making himself master of the holy sep- 
ulchre, an infinite number of years having passed 
between the one and the other ? Or, when a comedy 
is founded upon fiction, to see scraps of real history 
introduced, and facts misrepresented both with regard 
to persons and times, not with any ingenuity of con- 
trivance, but with the most manifest and inexcusable 
. errors and stupidity ; and wmat is w T orst of all, there is 
a set of ignorant pretenders who call this the perfec- 
tion of writing, and that every attempt to succeed 
by a contrary method is no other than a wild-goose 
chase. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 91 

The bow cannot remain always bent ; and relaxa- 
tion, both of body and mind, is indispensable to all. 



Can yon deny what is in everybody's month, when a 
person is in the dumps? It is always then said, "I 
know not what such a one ails — he neither eats, nor 
drinks, nor sleeps, nor answers to the purpose, like 
other men — surely he is enchanted." Wherefore.it 
is clear that such, and such only, are enchanted who 
neither eat, nor drink, nor sleep, and not they who eat 
and drink when they can get it, and answer properly 
to all that is asked them. 



The poor man is unable to exercise the virtue of 
liberality : and the gratitude which consists only in 
inclination is a dead thing, even as faith without works 
is dead. I shall, therefore, rejoice when fortune pre- 
sents me with an opportunity of exalting myself, that 
I may show my heart in conferring benefits on my 
friends, especially on poor Sancho Panza here, my 
squire, who is one of the best men in the world : and 
I would fain bestow on him an earldom, as I have long 
since promised : although I am somewhat in doubt of 
his ability in the government of his estate. 



Sancho, overhearing his master's last words, said : 
" Take you the trouble, Signor Don Quixote, to pro- 
cure me that same earldom, which your worship has so 
often promised, and I have been so long waiting for, 
and you shall see that I shall not want ability to gov- 
ern it. But even if I should, there are people, I have 



92 WIT AND WISDOM, 

heard say. who farm these lordships ; and paying the 
owners so much a year, take upon themselves the gov- 
ernment of the whole, while his lordship lolls at his 
ease, enjoying his estate, without concerning himself 
any further about it. Just so will 1 do, and give my- 
self no more trouble than needs must, but enjoy my- 
self like any duke, and let the world rub." 

" This, brother Sancho," said the canon, " may be"~ 
done, as far as regards the management of your rev- 
enue ; but the administration of justice must be at- 
tended to by the lord himself, and requires capacity, 
judgment, and. above all. an upright intention, with- 
out which nothing prospers ; for Heaven assists the 
good intent of the simple, and disappoints the evil de- 
signs of the cunning." 

4i I do not understand these philosophies." answered 
Sancho : " all that I know is. that I wish I may as 
surely have the earldom as I should know how to gov- 
ern it : for I have as large a soul as another, and as 
large a body as the best of them : and I should be as 
much king of my own dominion as any other king ; 
would do what I pleased ; and, doing what I pleased, I 
should have my will ; and having my will, I should be 
contented : and, being content, there is no more to be 
desired ; and when there is no more to desire, there is 
an end of it." 

" These are no bad philosophies, as you say, Sancho, " 
quoth the canon ; ' ; nevertheless, there is a great deal 
more to be said upon the subject of earldoms." 

" That may be." observed Don Quixote ; " but I am 
guided by the numerous examples offered on this sub- 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 93 

ts of my own profession : who. in compen- 

q for the loyal and signal services they had received 
from their squires, conferred upon them extraordinary 

3, making them absolute lords of cities and islands: 
indeed, there was one whose services were so great that 
he had the presumption to accept of a kingdom. But 
why should I say more, when before me is the bright 
example of the great Amadis de Gaul, who made his 

e knight of the Firm Island ? Surely I may. 
therefore, without scruple of conscience, make an earl 
of Sancho Panza. who is one of the best squires that 

served knight-errant." 



The mountains breed learned men, and the cottages 
of shepherds contain philosophers. 



Upon the news of Don Quixote's arrival. Sancho 
Panza's wife repaired thither, and on meeting him. her 
first inquiry was whether the ass had come home well. 

Sancho told her that he was in a better condition than 
his master. 

•• Tne Lord be praised," replied she, " for so great a 
mercy to me! But tell me. husband what good have 
; got by your squireship ? Have you brought a petti- 
coat home for me. and shoes for your children 

•• I have brought you nothing of that sort, dear wife." 
quoth Sancho ; "but I have got other things of greater 
consequence.*' 

•' I am very glad of that." answered the wife, "pray 

me your things of greater consequence, friend : 

for I would fain see them, to gladden my heart, which 



94 WIT AND WISDOM 

has been so sad, all the long time you have been 
away." 

u You shall see them at home, wife," quoth Sancho, 
" and be satisfied at present; for if it please God that we 
make another sally in quest of adventures, you will soon 
see me an earl or governor of an island, and no common 
one either, but one of the best that is to be had." 

"Grant Heaven it maybe so, husband," quoth the 
wife, u for we have need enough of it. But pray tell 
me what you mean by islands ; for I do not understand 
you." 

" Honey is not for the mouth of an ass, 9 ' answered 
Sancho: " in good time, wife, you shall see, yea, and 
admire to hear yourself styled ladyship by all your 
vassals." 

"What do you mean, Sancho, by ladyship, islands, 
and vassals ? " answered Teresa Panza ; for that was 
Sancho's wife's name, though they were not of kin, but 
because it is the custom in La Mancha for the wife to 
take the husband's name. 

" Be not in so much haste, Teresa, to know all this," 
said Sancho ; " let it suffice that I tell you the truth, and 
sew up your mouth. But for the present know that 
there is nothing in the world so pleasant to an honest 
man, as to be squire to a knight-errant, and seeker of 
adventures. It is true indeed, most of them are not so 
much to a man's mind as he could wish ; for ninety- 
nine of a hundred one meets with fall out cross and 
unlucky. This I know by experience ; for 1 have some- 
times come off tossed in a blanket, and sometimes well 
cudgelled. Yet, for all that, it is a fine thing to be in ex- 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 95 

pectation of accidents, traversing mountains, searching 
woods, marching over rocks, visiting castles, lodging in 
inns, all at discretion, and the devil a farthing to pay." 

Fame has preserved in the memoirs of La Mancha, 

that Don Quixote, the third time he sallied from home, 
went to Saragossa, where he was present at a famous 
tournament in that city, and that there befell him things 
worthy of his valor and good understanding. Nor would 
the chronicler have learned anything concerning his death 
had he not fortunately become acquainted with an aged 
physician, who had in his custody a leaden box. found, 
as he said, under the ruins of an ancient hermitage then 
rebuilding : in which box was found a manuscript of 
parchment written in Gothic characters, but in Castilian 
verse, containing many of his exploits, and giving an 
account of the beauty of Dulcinea del Toboso. the fig- 
ure of Rozinante. the fidelity of Sancho Panza. and the 
burial of Don Quixote himself, with several epitaphs 
and eulogies on his life and manners. All that could 
be read, and perfectly made out. were those inserted 
here by the faithful author of this strange and never- 
before-seen history ; which author desires no other re- 
ward from those who shall read it. in recompense of the 
vast pains it has cost him to inquire into and search all 
the archives of La Mancha to bring it to light, but that 
they would afford him the same credit that ingenious 
people give to books of knight-errantry, winch are so 
well received in the world : and herewith he will reckon 
himself well paid, and will rest satisfied: and will more- 
over be encouraged to seek and find out others, if not 



96 wit and wisi :: 

as true, at Least of as much invention and entertain- 
ment. The first words, written in the parchment which 
was found in the leaden box. were these : — 

THE ACAI>KMICIAXS OF AkGAMASELJJ*, 

A 7: ■■ -y : 7 La M .-.>-•: ha. 
Oy the Life ajtd Death of the Vai/>rocs 

I .'.' >UIXOTE DE LA MASCHA, 
HOC SCKIPSEKCTNT. 



- .. on the Sepulture :- 

1 xote. 



La Mancha's thunderbolt of war. 
The sharpest wit and loftiest muse, 

The arm which from Gaeta far 

T: Catai did its force difrv 
Hr who, through love and valor's fire, 

Oats - reat Ama iis's fame 

Bid warlike Galac: ret 

And silenced Beiianis' nam 
H- who, with helmet, sword, an 

On Rozinaute, steed well known. 
Adventures fought in many a fie 

Lies underneath this frozeu stone. 



L ' 7 : « . , 
-;y\KT. 
She whom yc see the plump and lusty dame, 
With hisfh erected chest and vigorous mien. 



OF DOS QUIXOTE. 97 

"Was erst th' enamored knight Don Quixote's flame, 
The fair Dulcinea, of Toboso, queen. 

For her, armed cap-a-pie with sword and shield, 
He trod the sable mountain o'er and o'er ; 

For her he traversed Montiel's well-known field, 
And in her service toils unnumbered bore. 

Hard fate ! that death should crop so fine a flower ! 

And love o'er such a knight exert his tyrant power I 



C'-'prichoso. a most ingenious Academician of Argamasilla, \ 

praise of Bon Quixote's Horse Rozinante. 

SOXXET. 

On the aspiring adamantine trunk 
Of a huge tree, whose root, with slaughter drunk 
Sends forth a scent of war. La Mancha's knight, 
Frantic with valor, and returned from fight, 
His bloody standard trembling in the air, 
Hangs up his glittering armor beaming far, 
With that fine -tempered steel whose edge o'erthrows, 
Hacks, hews, confounds, and routs opposing foes. 
Unheard-of prowess ! and unheard-of verse ! 
But art new strains invents, new glories to rehearse. 

If Amadis to Grecia gives renown, 
Much more her chief does fierce Bellona crown. 
Prizing La Mancha more than Gaul or Greece, 
As Quixote triumphs over Amadis. 
Oblivion ne'er shall shroud his glorious name, 
Whose very horse stands up to challenge fame ! 



98 WIT AND WISDOM 

Illustrious Rozinante, wondrous steed ! 

Not with more generous pride or mettled speed, 

His rider erst Rinaldo's Bayard bore, 

Or his mad lord. .Orlando's Brilladore. 



Burlador, the little Academician of Argamasilla, on Sancho Panza. 
SONNET. 

See Sancho Panza, view him well, 
And let this verse his praises tell. 
His body was but small, 't is true, 
Yet had a soul as large as two. 
No guile he knew, like some before him 
But simple as his mother bore him. 
This gentle squire on gentle ass 
Went gentle Rozinante's pace, 
Following his lord from place to place. 
To be an earl he did aspire, 
And reason good for such desire ; 
But worth in these ungrateful times, 
To envied honor seldom climbs. 
Vain mortals ! give your wishes o'er, 
And trust the flatterer Hope no more, 
Whose promises, whate'er they seem, 
End in a shadow or a dream. 



Cachidiablo, Academician of Argamasilla, on the Sepulture of 
Don Quixote. 



EPITAPH. 



Here lies an evil-errant knight,* 
Well bi'uised in many a fray, 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 99 

Whose courser, Bozinante night, 
Long bore him many a way. 

Close by his loving master's side 

Lies booby Sancho Panza, 
A trusty squire of courage tried, 

And true as ever man saw. 



Tiquitoc, Academician of Argamasilla, on the sepulture of Dul- 
cinea del Tuboso. 

Duleinea, fat and fleshy, lies 

Beneath this frozen stone : 
But, since, to frightful death a prize, 

Reduced to skin and bone. 

Of goodly parentage she came, 

And had the lady m her ; 
She was the great Don Quixote's flame, 

But only death could win her. 

These were all the verses that could be read : the rest, 
the characters being worm-eaten, were consigned to one 
of the Academicians, to find out their meaning by con- 
jectures. We are informed he has done it, after many 
lucubrations and much pains, and that he designs to 
publish them, giving us hopes of Don Quixote's third 
sally. 

" Forsi altro cantara con miglior plectro." 



The noble mind may be clouded by adversity, but 
cannot be wholly concealed ; for true merit shines by a 



100 WIT AND WISDOM 

light of its own, and, glimmering through the. rents 
and crannies of indigence, is perceived, respected, and 
honored by the generous and the great. 

A SHORT STORY OF WHAT HAPPENED ONCE IX 
SEVILLE. 

" A certain man, being deranged in his intellects, 
was placed by his relations in the mad-house of Seville. 
He had taken his degrees in the canon law at Ossuna ; 
but had it been at Salamanca, many are of opinion he 
would, nevertheless, have been mad. This graduate, 
after some years' confinement, took into his head that 
he was quite in his right senses, and therefore wrote 
to the archbishop, beseeching him, with great earnest- 
ness and apparently with much reason, that he would 
be pleased to deliver him from that miserable state of 
confinement in which he lived ; since, through the 
mercy of God, he had regained his senses ; adding that 
his relations, in order to enjoy part of his estate, kept 
him still there, aud, in spite of the clearest evidence, 
would insist upon his being mad as long as he lived. 

The archbishop, prevailed upon by the many sensi- 
ble epistles he received from him, sent one of his chap- 
lains to the keeper of the mad-house to inquire into the 
truth of what the licentiate had alleged, and also to 
talk with him, and if it appeared that he was in his 
senses, to set him at liberty. The chaplain accord- 
ingly went to the rector, who assured him that the man 
was still insane, for though he sometimes talked very 
sensibly, it was seldom for any length of time without 
betraying his derangement ; as he would certainly find 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 101 

on conversing with him. The chaplain determined to 
make the trial, and during the conversation of more 
than an hour, could perceive no symptom of incohe- 
rence in his discourse ; on the contrary, he spoke with 
so much sedateness and judgment that the chaplain 
could not entertain a doubt of the sanity of his intel- 
lects. Among other things he assured him that the 
keeper was bribed by his relations to persist in report- 
ing him to be deranged ; so that his large estate was 
his great misfortune, to enjoy which his enemies had 
recourse to fraud, and pretended to doubt of the 
mercy of Heaven in restoring him from the condition 
of a brute to that of a man. In short, he talked so 
plausibly that he made the rector appear venal and 
corrupt, his relations unnatural, and himself so dis- 
creet that the chaplain determined to take him imme- 
diately to the archbishop, that he might be satisfied he 
had done right. 

With this resolution the good chaplain desired the 
keeper of the house to restore to him the clothes which he 
wore when he was first put under his care. The keeper 
again desired him to beware what he did. since he 
might be assured that the licentiate was still insane ; 
but the chaplain was not to be moved either by his cau- 
tions or entreaties ; and as he acted by order of the 
archbishop, the keeper was compelled to obey him. 
The licentiate put on his new clothes, and now, finding 
himself rid of his lunatic attire, and habited like a 
rational creature, he entreated the chaplain, for char- 
ity's sake, to permit him to take leave of his late com- 
panions in affliction. Being desirous of seeing the 



102 WIT AND WISDOM 

lunatics who were confined in that house, the chaplain. 
with several other persons, followed him upstairs, and 
heard him accost a man who lay stretched in his cell 
outrageously mad : though just then composed and 
quiet. "Brother," said he to him. "have you any 
commands for me ? for I am going to return to my own 
house, God having been pleased, of His infinite good- 
ness and mercy, without any desert of mine, to restore 
me to my senses. I am now sound and well, for with 
God nothing is impossible ; put your whole trust and 
confidence in Him. and he will doubtless restore you 
also. I will take care to send you some choice food : 
and fail not to eat it : for I have reason to believe, 
from my own experience, that all our distractiou pro- 
ceeds from empty stomachs, aud brains filled with 
wind. Take heart, then, my friend, take heart : for 
despondence under misfortune impairs our health, and 
hastens our death. " 

This discourse was overheard by another madman. 
who was in an opposite cell : and raising himself up 
from an old mat, whereon he had thrown himself stark. 
naked, he demanded aloud, who it was that was going 
away recovered and in his senses. 

' * It is I. brother.' ' answered the licentiate. " that am 
going ; for I need stay no longer here, and am infinitely 
thankful to heaven for having bestowed so great a bles- 
sing upon me." 

11 Take heed, licentiate, what you say. let not the devil 
delude you, "replied the madman: 4 - stir not a foot, but 
keep where you are, and you will spare yourself the 
trouble of being brought back." 



OF DOX QUIXOTE. 103 

"I know," replied the licentiate, "that I am per- 
fectly well, and shall have no more occasion to visit the 
station churches." l 

11 You well ? " said the madman ; "we shall soon see 
that ; farewell ! but I swear by Jupiter, whose majesty 
I represent on earth, that for this offence alone, which 
Seville is now committing, in carrying you out of this 
house, and judging you to be in your senses, I am de- 
termined to inflict such a signal punishment on this 
city, that the memory thereof shall endure for ever and 
ever, Amen. Know you not, little crazed licentiate, 
that I can do it. since, as I say. I am thundering 
Jupiter, who hold in my hands the flaming bolts, with 
which I can, and use, to threaten and destroy the 
world ? But in one thing only will I chastise this igno- 
rant people ; and that is, there shall no rain fall on 
this town, or in all its district, for three whole years, 
reckoning from the day and hour in which this threat- 
ening is denounced. You at liberty, you recovered, 
and in your right senses ! and I a madman, I distem- 
pered and in bonds ! I will no more rain than I will 
hang myself." 

All the bystanders were very attentive to the mad- 
man's discourse : but our licentiate, turning himself 
to our chaplain, and holding him by both hands, said 
to him: "Be in no pain, good sir, nor make any 
account of what this madman has said ; for, if he is 
Jupiter and will not rain, I, who am Xeptune, the 

1 Certain churches, with indulgences, appointed to be visited, 
either for pardon of sins, or for procuring blessings. Madmen, 
probably, in their lucid intervals, were obliged to this exercise. 



104 WIT AND WISDOM 

father and the god of the waters, will rain as often as I 
please, and whenever there shall be occasion." To 
which the chaplain answered : " However, signor Nep- 
tune, it will not be convenient at present to provoke 
signor Jupiter; therefore, pray stay where you are; 
for, some other time, when we have a better opportu- 
nity and more leisure, we will come for you." The rec- 
tor and the bystanders laughed ; which put the chaplain 
half out of countenance. They disrobed the licentiate, 
who remained where he was ; and there is an end of 
the story. 

True valor lies in the middle, between the extremes 
of cowardice and rashness. 



No padlocks, bolts, or bars can secure a maiden so 
well as her own reserve. 



Honey is not for the mouth of an ass. 



He must be blind, indeed, who cannot see through a 
sieve. 



Comparisons, whether as to sense, courage, beauty, 
or rank, are always offensive. 



Scruples of conscience afford no peace. 



You have reckoned without your host. 



When the head aches, all the members ache also. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 105 

Me ponclra en la espina de Santa Lucia; — i. e., "Will 
put me on St. Lucia's thorn ; applicable to any uneasy 
situation. 

Let every man lay his hand upon his heart, and not 
take white for black, nor black for white ; for we are 
all as God made us, and oftentimes a great deal worse. 



" First and foremost, then," said Sancho, " the com- 
mon people take your worship for a downright madman, 
and me for no less a fool. The gentry say that, not 
content to keep to your own proper rank of a gentle- 
man, you call yourself Don, and set up for a knight, 
with no more than a paltry vineyard and a couple of 
acres of land. The cavaliers say they do not choose to 
be vied with by those country squires who clout their 
shoes, and take up the fallen stitches of their black 
stockings with green silk." 

" That," said Don Quixote, " is no reflection upon 
me ; for I always go well clad, and my apparel is never 
patched ; a little torn it may be, but more by the fret- 
ting of my armor than by time." 

'•As to your valor, courtesy, achievements, and un- 
dertakings," continued Sancho, "there are many dif- 
ferent opinions. Some say you are mad, but humorous ; 
others, valiant, but unfortunate ; others, courteous, but 
absurd ; and thus they pull us to pieces, till they leave 
neither your worship nor me a single feather upon our 
backs." 

" Take notice, Sancho," said Don Quixote, " that, 
when virtue exists in an eminent degree, it is always 
persecuted." 



WIT AND WISDOM 

" There cannot be a more Legitimate source of grati- 
fication to a virtuous and distinguished ma j Don 
Quixote. " than to have his good name celebrated dur- 
ing his I i : -. ~ i m -.- and circulated over different na:: d a 
I say his good Dame, foi if it were otherwise than good, 
death in any shape would be refea able." 



re be represented otherwise than with approbation 
is worse than the worst of dea:_.^. 



There are as many liferent opinion- - 7 are 

iiffei ent ts stea 

Pe ' tufas en el '". ^:^::- to look for tram ea 
in the sea. a proverb applicable be those whe are tot 

b . _ uine in then bxj e ; :ations and unreasonable in their 
lesires. 

"There is :. necessity i ling actions which 

:- re judicial :: the hero, without being essential to 

the history It is not :: sed thai JEne:.~ 

in all his actions sc pore as Virgil 1 \s him. nor 

Ulysses so uniformly prudent as fa ascribed by 

• • True . ' ' replie 1 Sampson ; • • but it is one thi: g I : 
write n it and another to write as an hist. 

may say or sing, not as things wea ; rat as 
they >nght tc have been ; but the historian must 

them not as they night to have been, but as they really 
wei e, without adding to or diminishing aught from the 
truth 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 107 

There is no human history that does not contain 
reverses of fortune. 

Let every man take care how he speaks or writes of 
honest people, and not set down at a venture the first 
thing that comes uppermost. 



" Sancho, thou art an arch rogue," replied Don Quix- 
ote, " and in faith, upon some occasions, hast no want 
of memory." 

" Though I wanted ever so much to forget what my 
poor body has suffered," quoth Sancho, "the tokens 
that are still fresh on my ribs would not let me." 

" Peace, Sancho," said Don Quixote, " and let signor 
bachelor proceed, that I may know wdiat is further said 
of me in the history.' 7 

" And of me too," quoth Sancho, " for I hear that 1 
am one of the principal parsons in it." 

" Persons, not parsons, friend Sancho," quoth 
Sampson. 

" What, have we another corrector of words ? v quoth 
Sancho ; " if we are to go on at this rate, we shall make 
slow work of it." 

" As sure as I live, Sancho," answered the bachelor, 
" you are the second person of the history ; nay, there 
are those who had rather hear you talk than the finest 
fellow of them all ; though there are also some who 
charge you with being too credulous in expecting the 
government of that island promised you by Signor Don 
Quixote, here present." 

"There is still sunshine on the wall," quoth Don 



108 WIT AND WISDOM 

Quixote ; " and when Sancho is more advanced in age, 
with the experience that years bestow, he will be better 
qualified to be a governor than he is at present." 

" 'Fore Gad! sir, 77 quoth Sancho, "if I am not fit 
to govern an island at these years, I shall be no better 
able at the age of Methusalem. The mischief of it is, 
that the said island sticks somewhere else, and not in 
my want of a headpiece to govern it." 

" Recommend the matter to God, Sancho, 7 ' said Don 
Quixote, "and all will be well — perhaps better than 
thou mayst think ; for not a leaf stirs on the tree with- 
out his permission." 

" That is very true," quoth Sampson ; " and if it 
please God, Sancho will not want a thousand islands to 
govern, much less one." 

—"I have seen governors ere now," quoth Sancho, 
" who, in my opinion, do not come up to the sole of my 
shoe ; and yet they are called 'your lordship, 7 and eat 
their victuals upon plate." 



With hay or with straw it is all the same. 



Much knowledge and a mature understanding are 
requisite for an historian. 



Wit and humor belong to genius alone. 



The wittiest person in the comedy is he that plays 
the fool. 

History is a sacred subject, because the soul of it is 
truth ; and where truth is, there the divinity will reside ; 



OF DOS QUIXOTE. 109 

yet there are some who compose and cast off books as if 
they were tossing up a dish of pancakes. 



There is no book so bad but something good may be 
found in it. . 

Printed works may be read leisurely, their defects 
easily seen, so they are scrutinized more or less strictly 
in proportion to the celebrity of the author. 



' ; Men of great talents, whether poets or historians. 
seldom escape the attacks of those who. without ever 
favoring the world with any production of their own, 
take delight in criticising the works of others. " 

"Nor can we wonder at that/' said Don Quixote, 
"when we observe the same practice among divines, 
who. though dull enough in the pulpit themselves, are 
wonderfully sharp-sighted in discovering the defects of 
other preachers." 

11 True, indeed, Signor Don Quixote,'' said Carrasco ; 
"I wish critics would be less fastidious, nor dwell so 
much upon the motes which may be discerned even in 
the brightest works ; for, though aliquando bonus dor- 
mitat Homerus, they ought to consider how much he was 
awake to produce a work with so much light and so 
little shade ; nay, perhaps even his seeming blemi>hes 
are like moles, which are sometimes thought to be 
rather an improvement to beauty. But it cannot be 
denied that whoever publishes a book to the world, ex- 
poses himself to imminent peril, since, of all things, 
nothing is more impossible than to satisfy everybody. 
Above all. I would let my master know that, if he takes 



110 WIT AND WISDOM 

me with him, it must be upon condition that he shall 
battle it all himself, and that I shall only have to tend 
his person — I mean, look after his clothes and food; 
all which I will do with a hearty good- will ; but if he 
expects I will lay hand to my sword, though it be only 
against beggarly wood-cutters with hooks and hatchets, 
he is very much mistaken. I, Signor Sampson, do not 
set up for being the most valiant, but the best and most 
faithful squire that ever served knight-errant ; and if 
my lord Don Quixote, in consideration of my many and 
good services, shall please to bestow on me some one 
of the many islands his worship says he shall light upon, 
I shall be much beholden to him for the favor ; and if 
he give me none, here I am, and it is better to trust 
God than each other ; and mayhap my government 
bread might not go down so sweet as that which I 
should eat without it ; and how 7 do I know but the devil, 
in one of these governments, might set up a stumbling- 
block in my way, over which I might fall, and dash out 
my grinders ? Sancho I was born, and Sancho I expect 
to die ; yet for all that, if, fairly and squarely, without 
much care or much risk, Heaven should chance to throw 
an island, or some such thing, in my way, I am not 
such a fool neither as to refuse it ; for, as the saying 
is, ' when the heifer is offered, be ready with the rope. ' " 



When good fortune knocks, make haste to bid her 
welcome. 

"Brother Sancho," quoth the bachelor, "you have 
spoken like any professor ; nevertheless, trust in Heaven 



OF DOX QUTXOTE. Ill 

and Signor Don Quixote, and then you may get not 
only an island but even a kingdom." 

"One as likely as the other," answered Sancho, 
u though I could tell Signor Carrasco that my master 
will not throw the kingdom he gives me into a rotten 
sack ; for I have felt my pulse, and find myself strong 
enough to rule kingdoms and govern islands ; and so 
much I have signified before now to my master." 

" Take heed, Sancho," quoth the bachelor, " for 
honors change manners ; and it may come to pass, 
when you are a governor, that you may not know even 
your own mother." 

44 That," answered Sancho, " may be the case with 
those that are born among the mallows, but not with 
one whose soul, like mine, is covered four inches thick 
with the grace of an old Christian. Xo, no, I am not 
one of the ungrateful sort." 

44 Heaven grant it," said Don Quixote; "but we 
shall see when the government comes, and methinks 
I have it already in my eye." 

Sancho went home in such high spirits that his wife 
observed his gayety a bow-shot off, insomuch that she 
could not help saying, " What makes you look so 
blithe, friend Sancho? " 

To which he answered: "Would to Heaven, dear 
wife, I were not so well pleased as I seem to be ! " 

" I know not what you mean, husband," replied she, 
" by saying you wish you were not so much pleased; 
now, silly as I am, I cannot guess how any one can 
desire not to be pleased." 

"Look you, Teresa," answered Sancho, U I am thus 



112 WIT AND WISDOM 

merry because I am about to return to the service of 
my master, Don Quixote, who is going again in search 
after adventures, and I am to accompany him, for so 
my fate wills it. Besides, I am merry with the hopes 
of finding another hundred crowns like those we have 
spent, though it grieves me to part from yon and my 
children ; and if Heaven would be pleased to give me 
bread, dryshod and at home, without dragging me over 
crags and cross-paths, it is plain that my joy would be 
better grounded, since it is now mingled with sorrow 
for leaving you ; so that I was right in saying that I 
should be glad if it pleased Heaven I were not so w 7 ell 
pleased." 

' * Look you, Sancho," replied Teresa, "ever since 
you have been a knight-errant man you talk in such a 
roundabout manner that nobody can understand you." 

" It is enough, wife," said Sancho, "that God un- 
derstands me, for He is the understander of all things ; 
and so much for that. And do you hear, wife, it be- 
hooves you to take special care of Dapple for these 
three or four days to come, that he may be in a condi- 
tion to bear arms ; so double his allowance, and get the 
pack-saddle in order and the rest of his tackling, for 
w r e are not going to a wedding, but to roam about the 
world and to give and take with giants, fiery dragons, 
and goblins, and to hear hissings, roarings, bellowings, 
and bleatings, all which would be but flowers of laven- 
der if we had not to do with Yangueses and enchanted 
Moors." 

4i I believe, indeed, husband," replied Teresa, " that 
your squires-errant do not eat their bread for nothing, 



OF DOST QUIXOTE. 113 

and therefore I shall not fail to beseech Heaven to de- 
liver you speedily from so much evil hap." 

" I tell you, wife," answered Sancho, u that did I 
not expect, ere long, to see myself governor of an island, 
I vow I should drop down dead upon the spot." 

44 Xot so, good husband," quoth Teresa, "let the hen 
live, though it be with the pip. Do you live, and the 
devil take all the governments in the world ! Without 
a government you came into the world, without a gov- 
ernment you have lived till now, and without it you can 
be carried to your grave whenever it shall please God. 
How many folks are there in the world that have no 
government! and yet they live and are reckoned among 
the people. The best sauce in the world is hunger, and 
as that is never wanting to the poor, they always eat 
with a relish. But if, perchance, Sancho, you should 
get a government, do not forget me and your children. 
Consider that your son Sancho is just fifteen years old, 
and it is fit he should go to school if his uncle the abbot 
means to breed him up to the church. Consider, also, 
that Mary Sancha, your daughter, will not break her 
heart if w T e marry her; for I am mistaken if she has 
not as much mind to a husband as you have to a gov- 
ernment. And verily say I, better a daughter but 
humbly married than highly kept." 

" In good faith, dear wife," said Sancho, "if Heaven 
be so good to me that I get anything like a government, 
I will match Mary Sancha so highly that there will be 
no coming near her without calling her your ladyship." 

" Not so, Sancho," answered Teresa, " the best way 
is to marry her to her equal ; for if you lift her from 



114 WIT AXD WISDOM 

clouted shoes to high heels, and instead of her russet 
coat of fourteenpenny stuff, give her a farthingale and 
petticoats of silk, and instead of plain Molly and thou 
she be called madam and your ladyship, the girl will 
not know where she is and will fall into a thousand 
mistakes at every step, showing her homespun country 
stuff." 

" Peace, fool!" quoth Sancho, "she has only to 
practise two or three years and the gravity will set 
upon her as if it were made for her ; and if not. what 
matters it V Let her be a ladv, and come of it what 
will." 

" Measure yourself by your condition, Sancho," 
answered Teresa, "and do not seek to raise yourself 
higher, but remember the proverb, ' Wipe your neigh- 
bor's son's nose and take him into your house.' It 
would be a pretty business, truly, to marry our Mary 
to some great count or knight, who, when the fancy 
takes him, would look upon her as some strange thing, 
and be calling her country-wench, clod-breaker's brat, 
and I know not what else. Xo, not while 1 live, hus- 
band ; I have not brought up my child to be so used. 
Do you provide money, Sancho, and leave the matching 
of her to my care ; for there is Lope Tocho, John 
Tocho's son, a lusty, hale young man, whom we know, 
and I am sure he has a sneaking kindness for the girl. 
To him she will be very well married, considering he is 
our equal, and will be always under our eye ; and we 
shall be all as one, parents and children, grandsons and 
sons-in-law, and so the peace and blessing of Heaven 
will be among us all ; and do not you be for marrying 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 115 

her at your courts and great palaces, where they will 
neither understand her nor she understand herself." 

" Hark you, beast, and wife for Barabbas," replied 
Sancho, " why would you now, without rhyme or rea- 
son, hinder me from marrying my daughter with one 
who may bring me grandchildren that may be styled 
your lordships ? Look you, Teresa, I have always 
heard my betters say, ' He that will not when he may, 
when he will he shall have nay' ; and it would be wrong, 
now that fortune is knocking at our door, not to open 
it and bid her welcome. ' Let us spread our sail to the 
favorable gale, now that it blows.' . . . Can't you per- 
ceive, animal, with half an eye," proceeded Sancho, 
" that I shall act wisely, in devoting this body of mine 
to some beneficial government that will lift us out of 
the dirt, and enable me to match Mary Sancha accord- 
ing to my own good pleasure ; then wilt thou hear thy- 
self called Donna Teresa Panza, and find thyself seated 
at church upon carpets, cushions, and tapestry, in de- 
spite and defiance of all the small ger try in the parish ; 
and not be always in the same moping circumstances, 
without increase or diminution, like a picture in the 
hangings. Bat no more of this ; Sanchica shall be a 
countess, though thou shouldst cry thy heart out." 

*' Look before you leap, husband." answered Teresa ; 
''after all, I wish to God this quality of my daughter 
may not be the cause of her perdition ; take your own 
way, and make her duchess or princess, or what you 
please ; but I'll assure you it shall never be with my 
consent or good-will ; I was always a lover of equality, 
my dear, and can't bear to see people hold their heads 



116 WIT AND WISDOM 

high without reason. Teresa was I- christened, a bare 
and simple name, without the addition, garniture, and 
embroidery of Don or Donna ; my father's name is 
Cascajo, and mine, as being your spouse, Teresa Panza, 
though by rights I should be called Teresa Cascajo ; but 
as the king minds, the law binds ; and with that name 
am I contented, though it be not burdened with a Don, 
which weighs so heavy that I should not be able to bear 
it. Neither will I put it in the power of those who see 
me dressed like a countess or governor's lady, to say : 
' Mind Mrs. Porkfeeder, how proud she looks 1 it was 
but yesterday she toiled hard at the distaff, and w 7 ent to 
mass with the tail of her gown about her head, instead 
of a veil ; but now, forsooth, she has got her fine far- 
thingales and jewels, and holds up her head as if we 
did not know her.' If God preserves me in my seven 
or five senses, or as many as they be, I shall never bring 
myself into such a quandary. As- for your part, spouse, 
you may go to your governments and islands, and be as 
proud as a peacock ; but as for my daughter and me, 
by the life of my father ! w r e will not stir one step from 
the village ; for, the wife that deserves a good name, 
stays at home as if she were lame ; and the maid must 
be still a-doing, that hopes to see the men come a- 
wooing." 

He that covers, discovers. 



The poor man is scarcely looked at, while every eye 
is turned upon the rich ; and if the poor man grows 
rich and great, then I warrant you there is work enough 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 117 

for your grumblers and backbiters, who swarm every- 
where like bees. 

" The first time, he was brought home to us laid 
athwart an ass, all battered and bruised. The second 
time he returned in an ox-wagon, locked up in a cage, 
and so changed, poor soul, that his own mother would not 
have known him ; so feeble, wan, and withered, and his 
eyes sunk into the farthest corner of his brains, inso- 
much that it took me above six hundred eggs to get him 
a little up again, as Heaven and the world is my witness, 
and my hens, that will not let me lie." 

"I can easily believe that," answered the bachelor; 
11 for your hens are too well bred and fed to say one 
thins: and mean another." 



All objects present to the view exist, and are impressed 
upon the imagination with much greater energy and 
force, than those which we only remember to have 
seen. 



When we see any person finely dressed, and set off 
with rich apparel and with a train of servants, we are 
moved to show him respect ; for, though we cannot but 
remember certain scurvy matters either of poverty or 
parentage, that formerly belonged to him, but which 
being long gone by are almost forgotten, we only think 
of what we see before our eyes. And if, as the preacher 
said, the person so raised by good luck, from nothing, 
as it were, to the tip-top of prosperity, be well behaved, 
generous, and civil, and gives himself no ridiculous 
airs, pretending to vie with the old nobility, take my 



118 WIT AXD WISDOM 

word for it, Teresa, nobody will twit him with what he 
was, but will respect him for what he is ; except, indeed 
the envious, who hate every man's good luck. 



People are always ready enough to lend their money 
to governors. 

Clothe the boy so that he may look not like what he 
is, but what he may be. 



To this burden women are born, they must obey their 
husbands if they are ever such blockheads. 



He that's coy when fortune's kind, may after seek but 
never find. 

All knights cannot be courtiers, neither can all court- 
iers be knights. 



The courtier knight travels only on a map, without 
fatigue or expense ; he neither suffers heat nor cold, 
hunger nor thirst ; while the true knight-errant ex- 
plores every quarter of the habitable world, and is by 
night and day, on foot or on horseback, exposed to all 
the vicissitudes of the weather. 



All are not affable and well-bred ; on the contrary, 
some there are extremely brutal and impolite. All 
those who call themselves knights, are not entitled to 
that distinction ; some being of pure gold, and others 
of baser metal, notwithstanding the denomination 
they assume. But these last cannot stand the touch- 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 119 

stone of truth ; there are mean plebeians, who sweat 
and struggle to maintain the appearance of gentle- 
men ; and, on the other hand, there are gentlemen of 
rank who seem industrious to appear mean and degen- 
erate : the one sort raise themselves either by ambition 
or virtue, while the other abase themselves by vicious- 
ness or sloth ; so that we must avail ourselves of our 
understanding and discernment in distinguishing those 
persons, who, though they bear the same appellation, are 
yet so different in point of character. All the genea^- 
gies in the world may be reduced to four kinds. The 
first are those families who from a low beginning have 
raised and extended themselves, until they have 
readied the highest pinnacle of human greatness ; the 
second are those of high extraction, who have preserved 
their original dignity ; the third sort are those who, 
from a great foundation, have gradually dwindled, un- 
til, like a pyramid, they terminate in a small point. 
The last, which are the most numerous class, are those 
who have begun and continue low, and who must end 
the same. 

Genealogies are involved in endless confusion, and 
those only are illustrious and great who are distinguished 
by their virtue and liberality, as well as their riches ; 
for the great man who is vicious is only a great sinner, 
and the rich man w T ho wants liberality is but a miserly 
pauper. 

The gratification which wealth can bestow is not in 
mere possession, nor in lavishing it with prodigality, 
but in the wise application of it. 



120 WIT AND WISDOM 

The poor knight can only manifest his rank by his 
virtues and general conduct. He must be well-bred, 
courteous, kind, and ol not proud nor arrogant; 

no murmurer. Above all. he must be charitable, and 
by two niaravedis given cheerfully to the poor he shall 
display as much generosity as the rich man who be- 
stows large alms by sound of bell. Of such a man no 
one would doubt his honorable descent, and general 
applause will be the sure reward of his virtue. 



There are two roads by which men may attain riches 
and honor : the one bv letters, the other by arms. 



The path of virtue is narrow, that of vice is spacious 
and broad : as the great Castilian poet expresses it : — 

' ; By these rough paths of toil and pain 
The immortal seats of bliss we gain, 
Denied to those who heedless stray 
In tempting pleasure's flowery way." 



Fast bind, fast find. 



He who shuffles is not he who cuts. 



A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. 



Though there is little in a woman's advice, yet he 
that won't take it is not over-wise. 



TTe are ail mortal : here to-dav and gone to-morrow. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 121 

The lamb goes to the spit as soon as the sheep. 



Xo man in this world can promise himself more hours 
of life than God is pleased to grant him ; because death 
if deaf, and when he knocks at the door of life is always 
in a hurry, and will not be detained either by fair 
means or force, by sceptres or mitres, as the report 
goes, and as we have often heard it declared from the 
pulpit. 

The hen sits, if it be but upon one egg. 



Many littles make a mickle, and he that is getting 
au^ht is losing naught. 



While there are peas in the dove-cote, it shall never 
want pigeons. 

A good reversion is better than bad possession, and 
a good claim better than b?„d pay. 

The bread eaten, the company broke up. 



A man must be a man, and a woman a woman. 



Nothing inspires a knight-errant with so much valor 
as the favor of his mistress. 



O envy ! thou root of infinite mischief and canker- 
worm of virtue ! The commission of all other vices, 
Sancho, is attended with some sort of delight ; but envy 
produces nothing in the heart that harbors it but rage, 
rancor, and disgust. 



122 WIT AXD WISDOM 

The love of fame is one of the most active principles 
in the human breast. 

Let us keep our holy days in peace, and not throw 
the rope after the bucket. 



u And now pray tell me which is the most difficult, to 
raise a dead man to life or to slay a giant ? " 

" The answer is very obvious," answered Don Quix- 
ote ; ' ; to raise a dead man." 

" There I have caught you ! " quoth Sancho. " Then 
his fame who raises the dead, gives sight to the blind, 
makes the lame walk, and cures the sick ; who has 
lamps burning near his grave, and good Christians al- 
ways in his chapels, adoring his relics upon their knees, 
— his fame, I say, shall be greater both in this world 
and the next than that which all the heathen emperors 
and knights-errant in the world ever had or ever shall 
have." 

" I grant it," answered Don Quixote. 

"Then," replied Sancho, "the bodies and relics of 
saints have this power and grace, and these privileges, 
or how do you call them, and with the license of our 
holy mother church have their lamps, winding-sheets, 
crutches, pictures, perukes, eyes, and legs, whereby 
they increase people's devotion and spread abroad their 
own Christian fame. Kings themselves carry the bod- 
ies or relics of saints upon their shoulders, kiss the 
fragments of their bones, and adorn their chapels and 
most favorite altars with them.'' 

" Certainly, but what wouldst thou infer from all 
this, Sancho? " quoth Don Quixote. 



OF DOX QUIXOTE. 123 

" What I mean/' said Sancho. " is, that we had better 
turn saints immediately, and we shall then soon get that 
fame we are seeking after. And pray take notice, sir. 
it was but yesterday — I mean very lately — a 
couple of poor barefooted friars were canonized, and 
people now reckon it a greater haj^piness to touch or 
kiss the iron chains that bound them, and which are 
now held in greater veneration than Orlando\s sword in 
the armory of our lord the king. Heaven save him : so 
that it is better to be a poor friar of the meanest order 
than the bravest knight-errant, because four dozen of 
good penitent lashes are more esteemed in the sight of 
God than two thousand tilts with a lance, though it be 
against giants, goblins, or dragons." 

**I confess.*' answered Don Quixote, '-all this is 
true. We cannot all be friars, and many and various 
are the ways by which God conducts his elect to 
Heaven. Chivalry is a kind of religious profession, 
and some knights are now saints in glory." 

" True," quoth Sancho, •• but I have heard say there 
are more friars in Heaven than knights-errant." 

•• It may well be so," replied Don Quixote. •• because 
their number is much greater than that of knights- 
errant. " 

•• And yet." quoth Sancho. H there are abundance of 

•• Abundance, indeed." answered Don Quixote, '-but 
few who deserve the name of knight." 



There is a time for jesting, and a time when jokes 
are unseasonable. 



124 WIT AX J WISDOM 

Truth may bend but never break, and will ever ris 
above falsehood, like oil above water. 



With Lovers the cx;ernal actions and gestures are 
couriers, which bear authentic tidings of what is pass- 
ing in the interior of the soul. 



A s:?ut heart flings misfortune. 



Where you meet with no books you need expect no 
her. 



us in his clutches spite of our teeth. 



Sh ho thou ai tell thee what 

thou 

Nc : with whom thou wert bred, but with whcm thou 

;v:; fed. 

Sorrow was made for man. not for beasts ; yet if men 
;rage melancholy too much, they become no better 
thai: be asts. 

* Thou bringest me good news, then?" cried Don 
Quixote. 

" So go: S . ir worship has 

only to clap spurs to Roziuaute. and get out upon thq 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 125 

plain, to see the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, who, with a 
couple of her damsels, is coming to pay your worship a 
visit." 

" Gracious Heaven ! " exclaimed Don Quixote, "what 
dost thou say ? Take care that thou beguilest not my 
real sorrow by a counterfeit joy." 

" What should I get," answered Sancho, "by deceiv- 
ing your worship, only to be found out the next mo- 
ment ? Come, sir, put on, and you will see the princess 
our mistress all arrayed and adorned — in short, like 
herself. She and her damsels are one blaze of naming 
gold : all strings of pearls, all diamonds, all rubies, all 
cloth of tissue above ten hands deep ; their hair, loose 
about their shoulders, like so many sunbeams blowing 
about in the wind ; and what is more, they come mounted 
upon three pied belfreys, the finest you ever laid eyes 
on." 

11 Palfreys, thou wouldst say, Sancho,*' quoth Don 
Quixote. 

11 Well, well," answered Sancho, "belfreys an.d pal- 
freys are much the same thing ; but let them be moun- 
ted how they will, they are sure the finest creatures one 
would wish to see : especially my mistress the princess 
Dulcinea, who dazzles one's senses." 

They were now got out of the wood, and saw the 
three wenches very near. 

Don Quixote looked eagerly along the road towards 
Toboso. and seeing nobody but the three wenches, he 
asked Sancho, in much agitation, whether they were 
out of the city when he left them. 

"Out of the city !" answered Sancho; "are your 



12C ~7 i.v; ~"5; _ 

vr ; . ?h:i '= eve* in ''--- z?z:e :: ~zz: r_f :> ±2: j:z i; z:: 
e-e r z ez ::.:" tIZt viz e-ziziz . zz-s zze izz :z z:»zz- 

: 

** I see ci'.T three ?:zzzrv rirls." zzsw^rei Izz Qzix- 
:ze . : z " ".. tt =>se= 

• Xow, Heaven keep me from the devil," ans^z : : 1 
S ;zz :z ■: z z ; z z : if z .:::_".: r r _ 

viz :zh :::ez: ~:zzi ;.~ :ze zzzrez =z:~. ez ; : .". .;. I.-.-.V -; 

- : ■-. izr zszrs : A- tze Lzzi ii-ezh. 7: z zzz. ] Ink :z 
:zz ;; fz: ". :: zz ze :: :: ': - s : 

I tell thee, friend Sancho,*" answered Don Quixote, 
" :':. : .: z z : i^:i. li :z: : I - z: I :z 

,..::::: : :zi :z z .S:.z:z; r :.:.::-. : — :.: .- -~ : : tzej 
F.riz :: :_ t " 

^ * : z: i:-.T :_:: zz:*z : :ziz: :z: 

rzzz - - : " - ; " : zii :...". : 7 re~e: -.--... ;r 

ro : z e z: if * - : . . '. . -"":.: r i 

i.r~:.:i:: ~ee: ::.: ze:-z:z_: zizs i::, :":_;.:::_ :r:ia 
I iz - : - . . ' . . i : : : z e ■: : : : 

iz .". ;; -zz ".:..-_ ' z :. "■: .ee= : : i::::::::, zz. 5 t: :z : zzz 

.. z -. ir :--• z. ' izz.e^i : : '-: :.~. '_-; ~z tzt 

haughtiness and greatness be pleased to receive into 
grace and good- liking your captive knight, who stands J 
turned there into stone, all disorder, and without any 
•;'.-t t: zzi zzi — z :; -zizr 7: - n:..zz:z .-...'. 'zz—zz :-e. 

I : z. S: : I. :e is z.z "-7- 

~ z". ." "zzi^'z: I l z_ ^zz ::r iz z-, ii;zziz.. :z:z::: 

- _.- r iz :: the Sir: :t zz hi. 



It z ;: cz z~z r -. ~. rishzess. ::: :ze rziz ; z:z ' 
z::...zi. 3.1 .z ;._zz —"ze:z Itttz z tzesezz :..:.. i -~..i. 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 127 

emperors fight in person, assisted by good and bad 
angels. 

Good Christians should never revenge injuries. 



A sparrow in the hand is better than a vulture on the 
wing. 

At the conclusion of this drama of life, death strips 
us of the robes which make the difference between 
man and man, and leaves us all on one level in the 
grave. 

. From a friend to a friend, 1 etc. 



Xor let it be taken amiss that any comparison should 
be made between the mutual cordiality of animals and 
that of men ; for much useful knowledge and many 
salutary precepts have been taught by the brute crea- 
tion. 

We may learn gratitude as well as vigilance from 
cranes, foresight from ants, modesty from elephants, 
and loyalty from horses. 



Harken, and we shall discover his thoughts by his 
song, for 'out of the abundance of the heart the mouth 
speaketh. 2 

1 " From a friend to a friend, a bug in the eye," is a proverb 
applied to the false professions of friendship. 

2 Cervantes makes frequent use of Bible quotations. 



128 WIT AND WISDOM 

SONNET. 
Bright authoress of my good or ill, 

Prescribe the law I -must observe : 
My heart, obedient to thy will, 

Shall never from its duty swerve. 

If you refuse my griefs to know, 
The stifled anguish seals my fate ; 

But if your ears would drink my woe. 
Love shall himself the tale relate. 

Though contraries my heart compose, 
Hard as the diamond's solid frame, 

And soft as yielding wax that flows, 
To thee, my fair, 'tis still the same. 

Take it, for every stamp prepared ; 

Imprint what characters you choose ; 
The faithful tablet, soft or hard, 

The dear impression ne'er shall lose. 



The sorrows that may arise from well-placed affec- 
tions, ought rather to be accounted blessings than ca- 
lamities. 

Good fare lessens care. 



The rarest sporting is that we find at other people's 
cost. 



Covetousness bursts the bag. 

Other folk's burdens break the ass's back. 



OF BOX QCIXOTE. 129 

There is no road so smooth but it has its stumbling- 
places. 

Madness will have more followers than discretion. 



Comparisons in grief lessen its weight. 



If the blind lead the blind, both may fall into the 
ditch . 

A good paymaster needs no pledge. 



Kobody knows the heart of his neighbor ; some go 
out for wool and come home shorn. 



Let us drink and live, for time takes care to rid us 
of oar lives, without our seeking ways to go before our 
appointed term and season. 



44 You must know I have had in my family, by the 
father's side, two of the rarest tasters that were ever 
known in La Mancha; and I will give you a proof of their 
skill. A certain hogshead was given to each of them 
to taste, and their opinion asked as to the condition, 
quality, goodness, or badness, of the wine. One tried 
it with the tip of his tongue ; the other only put it to 
his nose. The first said the wine savored of iron ; the 
second said it had rather a twang of goat's leather. 
The owner protested that the vessel was clean, and the 
wine neat, so that it could not taste either of iron or 
leather. Notwithstanding this, the two famous tast- 

9 



130 WIT AXD WISDOM 

ers stood positively to what they had said. Time went 
on : the wine was sold off, and. on cleaning the cask, a 
small key. hanging to a leathern thong, was found at 
the bottom. Judge then, sir, whether one of that race 
may not be well entitled to give his opinion in these 
matters." 

■■ That being the case." quoth he of the wood. " we 
should leave off seeking adventures, and. since we have 
a good loaf, let us not look for cheesecakes." 



The conquered must be at the discretion of the con- 
queror. 

It is easy to undertake, but more difficult to finish a 
thin?. 



••Pray, which is the greater madman, he who is so 
because he cannot help it. or he who is so on purpose ? " 

" The difference between these two sorts of madmen 
is," replied Sampson. " that he who cannot help it will 
remain so. and he who deliberately plays the fool may 
leave oft when he thinks fit.'' 



Heaven knows the truth of all things. 



The ancient sages, who were not enlightened with 
the knowledge of the true God, reckoned the gifts of 
fortune and nature, abundance of friends, and increase 
of dutiful children, as constituting part of the supreme 

happiness. 

Letters without virtue are like pearls on a dunghill. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 131 

DON QUIXOTE ON POETRY. 

Poetry I regard as a tender virgin, young and ex- 
tremely beautiful, whom divers other virgins — namely, 
all the other sciences — are assiduous to enrich, to pol- 
ish, and adorn. She is to be served by them, and they 
are to be ennobled through her. But the same virgin is 
not to be. rudely handled, nor dragged through the 
streets, nor exposed in the market-places, nor posted on 
the corners of gates of palaces. She is of so exquisite 
a nature that he who knows how to treat her will con- 
vert her into gold of the most inestimable value. He 
who possesses her should guard her with vigilance ; 
neither suffering her to be polluted by obscene, nor de- 
graded by dull and frivolous works. Although she 
must be in no wise venal, she is not, therefore, to de- 
spise the fair reward of honorable labors, either in he- 
roic or dramatic composition Buffoons must not come 
near her, neither must she be approached by the ignor- 
ant vulgar, who have no sense of her charms ; and 
this term is equally applicable to all ranks, for whoever 
is ignorant is vulgar. He, therefore, who, with the 
qualifications I have named, devotes himself to poetry, 
will be honored and esteemed by all nations distin- 
guished for intellectual cultivation. 

Indeed, it is generally said that the gift of poesy is 
innate — that is, a poet is born a poet, and, thus en- 
dowed by Heaven, apparently without study or art, 
composes things wmich verify the saying, Est Dens in 
nobis, etc. Thus the poet of nature, who improves him- 
self by art, rises far above him who is merely the crea- 



132 WIT AND WISDOM 

ture of study, Art may improve, but cannot surpass 
nature ; and, therefore, it is the union of both which 
produces the perfect poet. 

Let him direct the shafts of satire against vice, in all 
its various forms, but not level them at individuals, 
like some who, rather than not indulge their mischiev- 
ous wit, will hazard a disgraceful banishment to the 
Isles of Pontus. If the poet be correct in his morals, 
his verse will partake of the same purity : the pen is 
the tongue of the mind, and what his conceptions are, 
such will be his productions. The wnse and virtuous 
subject who is gifted with a poetic genius is ever hon- 
ored and enriched by his sovereign, and crowned with 
the leaves of the tree w 7 hich the thunderbolt hurts not, 
as a token that all should respect those brows which are 
so honorably adorned. 

Forewarned, forearmed ; to be prepared is half the 

victory. 

It is a nobler sight to behold a knight-errant assisting 
a widow 7 in solitude than a courtier-knight compliment- 
ing a damsel in the city. 



Well I know that fortitude is a virtue placed between 
the two extremes of cowardice and rashness : but it is 
better the valiant should rise to the extreme of temerity 
than sink to that of cowardice . for, as it is easier for 
the prodigal than the miser to become liberal, so it is 
much easier for the rash than the cowardly to become 
truly brave. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 133 



THE ADVENTURE WITH THE LIONS. 

Don Quixote, after having wiped his head, face, 
beard, and helmet, again put it on, and fixing himself 
firm in his stirrups, adjusting his sword, and grasping 
his lance, he exclaimed, " Now, come what may, I am 
prepared to encounter Satan himself ! " 

They were soon overtaken by the cart with flags, 
which was attended only by the driver, who rode upon 
one of the mules, and a man sitting upon the fore part 
of it. Don Quixote planted himself just before them, 
and said, " Whither go ye, brethren? What carriage 
is this? What do3S it contain, and what are those 
banners ? " 

44 The cart is mine," answered the carter, " and in it 
are two fierce lions, which the general of Oran is send- 
ing to court as a present to his majesty ; the flags be- 
long to our liege the king, to show that what is in the 
cart belongs to him." 

44 And are the lions large?" demanded Don Quix- 
ote. 

44 Larger never came from Africa to Spain," said the 
man on the front of the cart ; k4 1 am their keeper, and 
in my time have had charge of many lions, but never 
of any so large as these. They are a male and a fe- 
male ; the male is in the first cage, and the female 
is in that behind. Not having eaten to-day, they are 
now hungry and therefore, sir, stand aside, for w r e 
must make haste to the place where they are to be fed." 

44 What ! " said Don Quixote, w T ith a scornful smile, 
44 lion-whelps against me ! Against me, your puny 



1U WIT AND WISDOM 

monsters ! and at this time of day ! By yon blessed 
sun ! those who sent them hither shall see whether I 
am a man to be scared by lions. Alight, honest friend ! 
and, since you are their keeper, open the cages and turn 
out your savages of the desert : for in the midst of this 
field will I make them know who Don Quixote de la 
JVIancha is, in spite of the enchanters that sent them 
hither to me." 

" So, so/' quoth the gentleman to himself, " our good 
knight has now given us a specimen of what he is ; 
doubtless the curds have softened his skull, and made 
his brains mellow." 

Sancho now coming up to him, "For Heaven's sake, 
sir/' cried he, "hinder my master from meddling with 
these lions ; for if he does they will tear us all to 
pieces." 

" What, then, is your master so mad," answered the 
gentleman, u that you really fear he will attack such 
fierce animals ? " 

" He is not mad," answered Sancho, "but daring." 

"I will make him desist," replied the gentleman ; 
and, going up to Don Quixote, who was importuning 
the keeper to open the cages, " Sir," said he, " knights- 
errant should engage in adventures that, at least, afford 
some prospect of success, and not such as are altogether 
desperate ; for the valor which borders on temerity 
has in it more of madness than courage. Besides, 
sir knight, these lions do not come to assail you : they 
are going to be presented to his majesty ; and it is, 
therefore, improper to detain them or retard their 
journey." 



OF DOX QUIXOTE. 135 

"Sweet sir," answered Don Quixote, "go hence, 
and mind your decoy partridge, paid your stout fer- 
ret, and leave every one to his functions. This is 
mine, and I shall see whether these gentlemen lions will 
come against me or not." Then, turning to the keeper, 
he said, " I vow to Heaven, Don Rascal, if thou dost 
not instantly open the cages, with this lance I will pin 
thee to the cart.*' 

The carter seeing that the armed lunatic was resolute, 
" Good sir," said he, "for charity's sake, be pleased to 
let me take off my mules and get with them out of dan- 
ger, before the lions are let loose : for should my cattle 
be killed, I am undone for ever, as I have no other 
means of living than by this cart and these mules." 

11 Incredulous wretch ! " cried Don Quixote, "unyoke 
and do as thou wilt ; but thou shalt soon see that thy 
trouble might have been spared." 

The carter alighted and unyoked in great haste. 
The keeper then said aloud, " Bear witness, all here 
present, that against my will, and by compulsion, I 
open the cages and let the lions loose. I protest against 
what this gentleman is doing, and declare all the mis- 
chief done by these beasts shall be placed to his account, 
with my salary and perquisites over and -above. Pray, 
gentlemen, take care of yourselves before I open the 
door : for. as to myself. I am sure they will do me no 
hurt." 

Again the gentleman pressed Don Quixote to desist 
from so mad an action : declaring to him that he was 
thereby provoking God's wrath. Don Quixote replied 
that he knew what he was doing. The gentleman re- 



136 WIT AND WISDOM 

joined, and entreated him to consider well of it, for he 
was certainly deceived. 

" Nay, sir," replied Don Quixote, " if you will not be 
a spectator of what you think will prove a tragedy, spur 
your flea-bitten, and save yourself." 

Sancho, too, besought him, with tears in his eyes, to 
desist from an enterprise compared with which that of 
the windmills, the dreadful one of the fulling-mills, and 
in short, all the exploits he had performed in the whole 
course of his life, were mere tarts and cheesecakes. 
"Consider, sir," added Sancho, "here is no enchant- 
ment, nor anything like it ; for I saw, through the 
grates and chinks of the cage, the paw of a true lion ; 
and I guess, by the size of its claw, that it is bigger than 
a mountain." 

" Thy fears," answered Don Quixote, " would make 
it appear to thee larger than half the world. Retire, 
Sancho, and leave me ; and if I perish here, thou know- 
est our old agreement : repair to Dulcinea — I say no 
more." To these he added other expressions, which 
showed the firmness of his purpose, and that all argu- 
ment would be fruitless. The gentleman would fain 
have compelled him to desist, but thought himself un- 
equally matched in weapons and armor, and that it 
would not be prudent to engage with a madman, whose 
violence and menaces against the keeper were now re- 
doubled ; the gentleman therefore spurred his mare, 
Sancho his Dapple, and the carter his mules, and all 
endeavored to get as far off as possible from the cart, 
before the lions were let loose. Sancho bewailed the 
death of his master ; verily believing it would now 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 137 

overtake him between the paws of the lions ; he cursed 
his hard fortune, and the unlucky hour when he again en- 
tered into his service. But, notwithstanding his tears 
and lamentations, he kept urging on his Dapple to get 
far enough from the cart. The keeper, seeing that the 
fugitives were at a good distance, repeated his argu- 
ments and entreaties, but to no purpose : Don Quixote 
answered that he heard him, and desired he would 
trouble himself no more, but immediately obey his com- 
mands, and open the door. 

Whilst the keeper was unbarring the first gate, Don 
Quixote deliberated within himself whether it would be 
best to engage on horseback or not, and finally deter- 
mined it should be on foot, as Rozinante might be ter- 
rified at the sight of the lions. He therefore leaped 
from his horse, flung aside his lance, braced on his 
shield, and drew his sword ; and marching slowly, with 
marvellous intrepidity and an undaunted heart, he 
planted himself before the car, devoutly commending 
himself, first to God and then to his mistress Dulcinea. 

Here it is to be noted that the author of this faithful 
history, coming to this passage, falls into exclamations, 
and cries out, O strenuous and beyond all expression 
courageous Don Quixote de la Mancha ! thou mirror 
wherein all the valiant ones of the world may behold 
themselves, thou second and new Don Manuel de Leon, 
who was the glory and honor of the Spanish knights ! 
With what w T ords shall I relate this tremendous ex- 
ploit ? By what arguments shall I render it credible 
to succeeding ages ? or what praises, though above all 
hyperboles hyperbolical, do not fit and become thee? 



133 WIT AND' WISDOM 

Thou, alone, on foot, intrepid and magnanimous, with 
a single sword, and that none of the sharpest, with a 
shield not of the brightest and most shining steel, standi 
est waiting for and expecting two of the fiercest lions 
that the forests of Africa ever bred. Let thy own deeds 
praise thee, valorous Manchegan! for here I must leave 
off for want of words whereby to enhance them. Here 
the author ends his exclamation, and resumes the thread 
of the history, saying : — 

The keeper, seeing Don Quixote fixed in his posture, 
and that he could not avoid letting loose the male lion 
on pain of falling under the displeasure of the angrj 
and daring knight, set wide open the door of the first 
cage, where lay the lion, which appeared to be of an 
extraordinary bigness and of a hideous and frightful 
aspect. The first thing he did was to turn himself 
round in the cage, reach out a paw, and stretch him- 
self at full length. Then he gaped and yawned very 
leisurely ; then licked the dust off his eyes, and washed 
his face, with some half a yard of tongue. This done, 
he thrust his head out of the cage and stared round 
on all sides with eyes of fire-coals, — a sight and aspect 
enough to have struck terror into temerity itself. Don 
Quixote only observed him with attention, wishing he 
would leap out from the car and grapple with him. that 
he might tear him in pieces, to such a pitch of extrava- 
gance had his unheard-of madness transported him. 

But the generous lion, more civil than arrogant, 
taking no notice of his vaporing and bravados, after 
having stared about him. as has been said, turned his 
back and showed his posteriors to Don Quixote, and 



OF VOX QUIXOTE. 139 

with great phlegm and calmness laid himself down 
again in the cage ; which Don Quixote perceiving, he 
ordered the keeper to give him some blows and provoke 
him to come forth. 

4 * That I will not do," answered the keeper ; " for, 
should I provoke him, I myself shall be the first he will 
tear in pieces. Be satisfied, signor cavalier, with what 
is done, which is all that can be said in point of cour- 
age, and do not tempt fortune a second time. The lion 
has the door open, and it is in his choice to come forth 
or not ; and since he has not yet come out, he will not 
come out all this day. The greatness of your worship's 
courage is already sufficiently shown. Xo brave com- 
batant, as I take it, is obliged to more than to challenge 
his foe, and expect him in the field ; and if the antago- 
nist does not meet him, the disgrace falls on him, while 
the challenger is entitled to the crown of victory." 

" That is true," answered Don Quixote ; " shut the 
door, and give me a certificate in the best form you 
can of what you have here seen me perform. It should 
be known that you opened the door to the lion ; that I 
waited for him ; that he came not out ; again I waited 
for him ; again he came not out ; and again he laid 
himself down. I am bound to no more, — enchant- 
ments avaunt ! So Heaven prosper right and justice 
and true chivalry! Shut the door, as I told thee, while 
I make a signal to the fugitive and absent, that from 
your own mouth they may have an account of this 
exploit." 

The keeper closed the door, and Don Quixote, having 
fixed the linen cloth with which he had wiped the curds 



WIT AND :DOJI 

from his face upon the r :::_: :: his lance, began to hail 
the fcrooi in iistance, who, with the gentleman in 

It n ar their head, were still retiring, but looking round 

every stej when suddenly Sancho observed the signal 
of the wh;:r ;] : fch. 

-^•l:,-: I be bemr-ei." :::ed he. 'if my master has 
not vanquishc beasts, for he is calling to 

us ! ,s 

They all sto] saw that it was DonQuix::e 

that made the si^ii : and, their fear in some degree 
ng, the ent ured to return slowly till they could 
d :tly hear the words of Don Quixote, who continued 
calling to them. When they bed the cart again, 

Don Quixote said to the driver : • Now, friend, put on 
your mules : rain, and in H- .me proceed ; and, 

v jho,give t¥ him and the keeper, to 

them amends for this delay." 

•• T..: fc 1 y teart, ' San :b: : 

u but 5 become of the lions ey dead or 

alive '? 

T:;e keeper then very minute!; le 

gave conflict, enlarging, to t 

of his skill, on the valor of I rote, at si 

whom the daunted lion wc not, m durst n 
out of the : _ , he had held open the door a 

good while ; and upon his _ : the b 

that it was ten _ <>od to provoke the lion, and to 

him out. he had at length, vei . per* 

mitte ihk b it s gain. 

"What sayest thou this, Sanchc ? " said Don 
Quixote : •• can any enc avail against 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 141 

courage ? Enchanters may, indeed, deprive me of good 
fortune, but of courage and resolution they never can." 

Saucho gave the gold crowns ; the carter yoked his 
mules ; the keeper thanked Don Quixote for his pres- 
ent, and promised to relate this valorous exploit to the 
king himself when he arrived at court. 

"If, perchance, his majesty," said Don Quixote, 
' should inquire who performed it, tell him the Knight 
of the Lions ; for henceforward I resolve that the title 
1 have hitherto borne, of the Knight of the Sorrowful 
Figure, shall be thus changed, converted, and altered ; 
and herein I follow the ancient practice of knights- 
errant, who changed their names at pleasure." 



It is a gallant sight to see a cavalier in shining armor 
prancing over the lists at some gay tournament in sight 
of the ladies ; it is a gallant sight when, in the middle 
of a spacious square, a brave cavalier, before the eyes 
of his prince, transfixes with his lance a furious bull ; 
and a gallant show do all those knights make, who, in 
military or other exercises, entertain, enliven, and do 
honor to their prince's court ; but far above all these 
is the knight-errant, who, through deserts and solitudes, 
through cross-ways, through woods, and over moun- 
tains, goes in quest of perilous adventures, which he 
undertakes and accomplishes only to obtain a glorious 
and immortal fame. 

All knights have their peculiar functions. Let the 
courtier serve the ladies, adorn his prince's court with 
rich liveries, entertain the poorer cavaliers at his splen- 



142 WIT AXD WISDOM 

did table, order his jousts, manage tournaments, and 
show himself great, liberal, and magnificent ; above all, 
a good Christian, and thus will he fulfil his duties. 



In enterprises of every kind, it is better to lose the 
game by a card too much than one too little : for it 
sounds better to be called rash and daring than timor- 
ous and cowardly. 

" Signor Don Diego de Miranda, your father, sir, 
has informed me of the rare talents you possess, and 
particularly that you are a great poet." 

4t Certainly not a great poet,*' replied Lorenzo ; "if 
is true I am fond of poetry, and honor the works of 
good poets ; but I have no claim to the title my father 
is pleased to confer upon me." 

'•I do not dislike this modesty," answered Don Quix- 
ote ; *-for poets are usually very arrogant, each think- 
ing himself the greatest in the world." 

•• There is no rule without an exception," answered 
Don Lorenzo ; 4i and surely there may be some who do 
not appear too conscious of their real merits." 

"Very few, I believe," said Don Quixote. 



THE SCIENCE OF KNIGHT-ERR ANTRY. 

" It is a science," replied Don Quixote, '* which com- 
prehends all, or most of the other sciences : for he who 
professes it must be learned in the law. and understand 
distributive and commutative justice, that he may 
know not only how to assign to each man what is truly 
his own, but what is proper for him to possess ; he must 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 143 

be conversant in divinity, in order to be able to ex- 
plain, clearly and distinctly, the Christian faith which 
he professes ; he must be skilled in medicine, especially 
in botany, that he may know both how to cure the 
diseases with which he may be afflicted, and collect the 
various remedies which Providence has scattered in the 
midst of the wilderness, nor be compelled on every 
emergency to be running in qnest of a physician to heal 
him ; he must be an astronomer, that he may if neces- 
sary ascertain by the stars the exact hour of the night 
and what part or climate of the world he is in ; he 
must understand mathematics, because he will have 
occasion for them ; and taking it for granted that he 
must be adorned with all the cardinal and theological 
virtues, I descend to other more minute particulars, 
and say that he must know how to swim as well as it is 
reported of Fish Nicholas ; 1 he must know how to shoe 
a horse and repair his saddle and bridle : and to re- 
turn to higher concerns, he must preserve his faith 
inviolable towards Heaven, and also to his mistress; 
he must be chaste in his thoughts, modest in his words, 
liberal in good works, valiant in exploits, patient in 
toils, charitable to the needy, and steadfastly adhering 
to the truth, even at the hazard of his life. Of all 
these great and small parts a good knight-errant is 
composed." 

1 A Sicilian, native of Catania, who lived in the latter part of 
the sixteenth century. He was commonly called Pesce-cola. or 
Fish-Xicholas, and is said to have lived so much in the water 
from his infancy, that he could cleave the waters in the midst of 
a storm like a marine animal- 



144 WIT AND WISDOM 

THE TEXT. 

Could I recall departed joy, 

Though barred the hopes of greater gain, 
Or now the future hours employ 

That m : *ed my present pain. 

THE PARAPHRASE!. 

All fortune's blessings disappear, 

She's fickle as the wind ; 
And now I find her as severe 

A? once I thought her kind. 
How soon the fleeting pleasures passed! 
H: v long the lingering sorrc ws last ! 

Unconstant goddess, in thy haste, . 
Do not thy prostrate slave 

I "d ne'er complaiu. but bless my fate, 
/ / recall departec. 

Of all thy gifts I beg but this , 

Glut all mankind with more, 
Transport them with redoubled bliss, 

But only mine restore. 
- With thought of pleasure once possessed, 
I 'm now as cursed as 1 was blessed: 

Oh. would the charming hours return. 
How pleased I 'd live, how fret ran, 

I ne'er would pine. I ne'er would mourn. 
Though barred the hopes y am. 

But oh. the blessing I implore 
Not fate itself can gire 1 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 145 

Since time elapsed exists no more, 

Xo power can bid it live. 
Our days soon vanish into naught, 
And have no being but in thought. 

AYhate'er began must end at last, 
In vain we twice would youth enjoy, 

In vain would we recall the past, 
Or now the future hours employ. 

Deceived by hope, and racked by fear, 

Xo longer life can please ; 
I '11 then no more its torments bear, 

Since death so soon can ease. 
This hour I '11 die — but, let me pause — 
A rising doubt my courage awes. 

Assist, ye powers that rule my fate, 
Alarm my thoughts, my rage restrain, 

Convince my soul there's yet a state 
That must succeed my present pain. 



O Flattery, how T potent is thy sway ! How wide the 
bounds of thy pleasing jurisdiction ! 



On the story of Pyramus and Thisbe. 
SONXET. 

The nymph who Pyramus with love inspired 
Pierces the wall, with equal passion fired : 
Cupid from distant Cyprus thither flies, 
And views the secret breach with laughing eyes. 

10 



146 WIT AND WISDOM 

Here silence, vocal, mutual vows conveys, 
And whispering eloquent, their love betrays : 
Though chained by fear, their voices dare not pass, 
Their souls, transmitted through the chink, embrace. 

Ah , wof ul story of disastrous love ! 
Jll-fated haste that did their ruin prove I 
One death, one grave, unite the faithful pair, 
And in one common fame their memories share. 



No parents can see the deformity of their own chil- 
dren, and still stronger is this self-deception with 
respect to the offspring of the mind. 



At parting, Don Quixote addressing himself to Don 
Lorenzo : " I know not," said he, " whether I have al- 
ready told your worship, but if I have, let me now 
repeat the intimation, that when you are inclined to 
take the shortest and easiest road to the inaccessible 
summit of the temple of fame, you have no more to do, 
but to leave on one side the path of poetry, which is 
pretty narrow, and follow that of knight-errantry, 
which, though the narrowest of all others, will conduct 
you to the throne of empire in the turning of a straw." 



Riches are able to solder abundance of flaws. 



Every sheep to its like. 



Let every goose a gander choose. 



OF DOX QUIXOTE. 147 

ax account of the marriage of camacho the 
rich; and also the adventure of basillus 

THE POOR. 

" Come with us, and you will see one of the greatest 
and richest weddings that has ever been celebrated in 
La Mancha, or for many leagues round. " 

•• The nuptials of some prince, I presume? " said Don 
Quixote. 

" No," replied the scholar, " only that of a farmer 
and a country maid : he the wealthiest in this part of 
the country, and she the most beautiful that eyes ever 
beheld. The preparations are very uncommon : for the 
wedding is to be celebrated in a meadow near the vil- 
lage where the bride lives, who is called Quiteria the 
Fair, and the bridegroom Camacho the Rich : she is 
about the age of eighteen, and he twenty-two, both 
equally matched , though some nice folks, who have all 
the pedigrees of the world in their heads, pretend that 
the family of Quiteria the Fair has the advantage over 
that of Camacho ; but that is now little regarded, for 
riches are able to solder up abundance of flaws. In 
short, this same Camacho is as liberal as a prince ; and, 
intending to be at some cost in this wedding, has taken 
it into his head to convert a whole meadow into a kind 
of arbor, shading it so that the sun itself will find some 
difficulty to visit the green grass beneath. He will also 
have morris-dances, both with swords and bells ; for 
there are people in the village who jingle and clatter 
them with great dexterity. As to the number of shoe- 
clappers 1 invited, it is impossible to count them ; but 

1 Zapateadores : dancers that strike the soles of their shoes 
with the palms of their hands, in time and measure. 



148 WIT AND WISDOM 

what will give the greatest interest to this wedding is 
the effect it is expected to have on the slighted Basilius. 

"This Basilius is a swain of the same village as 
Quiteria ; his house is next to that of her parents, and 
separated only by a wall, whence Cupid took occasion 
to revive the ancient loves of Pyramus and Thisbe ; for 
Basilius was in love with Quiteria from his childhood, 
and she returned his affection with a thousand modest 
favors, insomuch that the loves of the two children, 
Basilius and Quiteria, became the common talk of the 
village. When they were grown up, the father of Qui- 
teria resolved to forbid Basilius the usual access to his 
family ; and to relieve himself of all fears on his ac- 
count, he determined to marry his daughter to the rich 
Camacho ; not choosing to bestow her on Basilius, 
whose endowments are less the gifts of fortune than of 
nature : in truth he is the most active youth we 
know ; a great pitcher of the bar, an excellent wrest- 
ler, a great player at cricket, runs like a buck, leaps 
like a wild goaf, and plays at ninepins as if by witch- 
craft ; sings like a lark, and touches a guitar delight- 
fully ; and, above all, he handles a sword like the most 
skilful fencer." 

It now began to grow dark, and as they approached 
the village there appeared before them a new heaven, 
blazing with innumerable stars. At the same time they 
heard the sweet and mingled sounds of various instru- 
ments — such as flutes, tambourines, psalters, cymbals, 
drums, and bells ; and, drawing still nearer, they per- 
ceived a spacious arbor, formed near the entrance into 
the town, hung round with lights that shone undis- 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 149 

turbed by the breeze ; for it was so calm that not a leaf 
was seen to move. The musicians, who are the life 
and joy of such festivals, paraded in bands up and 
down this delightful place, some dancing, others sing- 
ing, and others playing upon different instruments : in 
short, nothing was there to be seen but mirth and pleas- 
ure. Several were employed in raising scaffolds, from 
which they might commodiously behold the shows and 
entertainments of the following day. that were to be 
dedicated to the nuptial ceremony of the rich Camacho 
and the obsequies of poor Basilius. 

If he is poor he cannot think to wed Qui ten a. A 
pleasant fancy, forsooth, for a fellow* who has not a 
groat in his pocket to look for a yoke-mate above the 
clouds. Faith, sir, in my opinion a poor man should 
be contented with what he finds, and not be seeking for 
truffles at the bottom of the sea. 

The first thing that presented itself to Sancho's sight 
was a whole bullock spitted upon a large elm. The fire 
it was roasted by was composed of a middling moun- 
tain of wood, and round it were placed six pots, not 
cast in common moulds : for they were half-jars, each 
containing a whole shamble of flesh ; and entire sheep 
were sunk and swallowed up in them, as commodiously 
as if they were only so many pigeons. The hares ready 
cased, and the fowls ready plucked, that hung about 
upon the branches, in order to be buried in the caldrons, 
were without number. Infinite was the wild fowl and 
venison hanging about the trees, that the air might 
cool them. Sancho counted above threescore skins, 
each of above twenty- four quarts, and all, as appeared 
afterwards, full of generous wines. 



150 WIT AND WISDOM 

There were also piles of the whitest bread, ar- 
ranged like heaps of wheat on the threshing-floor, and 
cheeses, piled up in the manner of bricks, formed a 
kind of wall. Two caldrons of oil, larger than dyers' 
vats, stood ready for frying all sorts of batter-ware ; 
and, with a couple of stout peels, they shovelled them 
up when fried, and forthwith immersed them in a ket- 
tle of prepared honey that stood near. The men and 
women cooks were about fifty in number, all clean, all 
active, and all in good humor. In the bullock's dis- 
tended belly were sewed up a dozen sucking pigs, to 
make it savory and tender. The spices of various 
kinds, which seemed to have been bought, not by the 
pound, but by the hundredweight, were deposited in a 
great chest, and open to every hand. In short the 
preparation for the wedding was all rustic, but in suffi- 
cient abundance to have feasted an army. 

Sancho beheld all with wonder and delight. The 
first that captivated and subdued his inclinations were 
the flesh-pots, out of which he would have been glad to 
have filled a moderate pipkin ; next the wine-skins drew 
bis affections ; and lastly the products of the frying- 
pans — if such capacious vessels might be so called ; 
and, being unable any longer to abstain, he ventured 
to approach one of the busy cooks, and in persuasive 
and hungry terms begged leave to sop a luncheon of 
bread in one of the pots. 

To which the cook answered, " This, friend, is not a 
day for hunger to be abroad — thanks to rich Cama- 
cho. Alight, and look about you for a ladle to skim 
out a fowl or two, and much good may they do you/ ' 



OF DON QUIXOTE, 151 

a I see no ladle," answered Sancho. 

" Stay," said the cook. " Heaven save me, what a 
helpless varlet ! " So saying, he laid hold of a kettle, 
and sousing it into one of the half-jars, he fished out 
three pullets and a couple of geese, and said to Sancho, 
"Eat, friend, and make your breakfast of this scum, 
to stay your stomach till dinner-time." 

11 1 have nothing to put it in," answered Sancho. 

" Then take ladle and all," quoth the cook; "for 
Camacho's riches and joy supply everything. " 

While Sancho was thus employed, Don Quixote stood 
observing the entrance of a dozen peasants at one side 
of the spacious arbor r each mounted on a beautiful 
mare, in rich and gay caparisons, hung round with 
little bells. They were clad in holiday apparel and in 
a regular troop made sundry careers about the meadow, 
with a joyful Moorish cry of " Long live Camacho and 
Quiteria ! he as rich as she is fair, and she the fairest 
of the world ! " 

Don Quixote hearing this, said to himself, " These 
people, it is plain, have never seen my Dulcinea del 
Toboso ; otherwise they would have been less extrava- 
gant in the praise of their Quiteria.'' 

Soon after there entered, on different sides of the 
arbor, various sets of dancers, among which was one 
consisting of four-and-twenty sword-dancers ; hand- 
some, sprightly swains, all arrayed in fine white linen, 
and handkerchiefs wrought with several colors of fine 
silk. One of those mounted on horseback inquired of 
a young man who led the sword-dance, whether any of 
his comrades were hurt. 



152 WIT AXD WISDOM 

• • No," replied the youth : u thank Heaven, as yet we 
are all well : " and instantly he twined himself in among 
his rompanions with sc ay turns, and so dexterously, 
that though Don Quixote L; id rften seen such dances 
before, none had ever pleased him so well. Another 
dance adso lelighted him much, performed by twelve 

msels, young and beautiful, all clad in green stuff of 
Cuenza, having their hair partly plaited, and partly 
flowing, all of golden hue. rivalling the sun itself, and 
covered with garlands of jessamine, roses and wood- 
bine. They wei e led up by a venerable old man 
an ancient matron, to whom the occasion had given 
more agility than might have been expected from their 
A Zamora bagpipe regulated their motions. 
which being no less sprightly and graceful than their 
Looks were modest and maidenly, more lovely dancers 
were never seen in the world. 

A pantomimic dance now succeeded, by eight nymphs, 
:1 intc twc ranks — "Cupid" leading the one, 
and "Interest/ 1 the other; the former equipped with 
wings, jw, quiver, and arrows : the latter gorgeously 
apparelled with rich and variously colored si;ks. em- 
with go! Lhe nymphs iu Cupid's band 

displayed theii written in lav. iters on their 

•■ Poetr - the first; then succeeded •• Dis- 

cretion. ' "Good Lineage,*' and ; - Valor.*' The fol- 
- : lt Interest " were ••Liberality,** " Bounty, **' 
u Wealt 1 S -r : oritj \ " This band was prec 

by a wooden castle, drawn by savages, clad bo nat- 
urally in ivy I fjpreen cloth, coarse and shaggy, that 
Sanchc was startled. On ;^e front and sides of the 



OF DOX QUIXOTE. 153 

edifice was written, (t The Castle of Reserve." Four 
skilful musicians played on the tabor and pipe : Cupid 
began the dance, and after two movements, he raised 
his eyes, and bending his bow, pointed an arrow to- 
wards a damsel that stood on the battlements of the 
castle ; at the same time addressing to her the follow- 
ing verses : — 

cupid's address. 

I am the god whose power extends 

Through the wide ocean, earth, and sky ; 

To my soft sway all nature bends, 
Compelled by beauty to comply. 

Fearless I rule, in calm and storm, 

Indulge my pleasure to the full ; 
Things deemed impossible perform, 

Bestow, resume, ordain, annul. 

Cupid, having finished his address, shot an arrow 
over the castle, and retired to his station ; upon which 
Interest stepped forth, and after two similar move- 
ments, the music ceasing, he said : — 

My power exceeds the might of love, 

For Cupid bows to me alone ; 
Of all things framed by heaven above, 

The most respected, sought, and known. 

My name is Interest ; mine aid 
But few obtain, though all desire : 

Yet shall thy virtue, beauteous maid, 
My constant services acquire. 



154 WIT AND WISDOM 

Interest then withdrew, and Poetry advanced ; and, 
fixing her eyes on the damsel of the castle, she said : — 
Let Poetry, whose strain divine 

The wondrous power of song displays, 
Her heart to thee, fair nymph, consign, 
Transported in melodious lays : 

If haply thou wilt not refuse 
To grant my supplicated boon, 

Thy fame shall, wafted by the muse, 
Surmount the circle of the moon. 

Poetry having retired from the side of Interest, Lib- 
erality advanced ; and, after making her movements, 
said : — 

My name is Liberality, 

Alike beneficent and wise, 
To shun wild prodigality, 

And sordid avarice despise. 
Yet, for thy favor lavish grown, 
A prodigal 1 mean to prove ; 
An honorable vice I own, 
But giving is the test of love. 

In this manner all the figures of the two parties ad- 
vanced and retreated, and each made its movements 
and recited its verses, some elegant, and some ridicu- 
lous ; of which Don Quixote, who had a very good 
memory, treasured up the foregoing only. 

The bridal pair proceeded towards a theatre on one 
side of the arbor, decorated with tapestry and garlands, 
w T here the nuptial ceremony was to be performed, and 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 155 

whence they were to view the dances and shows pre- 
pared for the occasion. Immediately on their arrival 
at that place, a loud noise was heard at a distance, 
amidst which a voice was distinguished calling aloud, 
M Hold a little, rash and thoughtless people ! " On 
turning their heads they saw that these words were 
uttered by a man who was advancing towards them, 
clad in a black doublet, welted with naming crimson. 
He was crowned with a garland of mournful cypress, 
and held in his hand a large truncheon ; and, as he 
drew near, all recognized the gallant Basilius, and 
waited in fearful expectation of some disastrous re- 
sult from this unseasonable visit. 

At length he came up, tired and out of breath, and 
placed himself just before the betrothed couple ; then, 
pressing his staff, which was pointed with steel, into 
the ground, he fixed his eyes on Quiteria, and in a 
broken and tremulous voice thus addressed her : " All, 
false and forgetful Quiteria, well thou knowest that, 
by the laws of our holy religion, thou canst not marry 
another man whilst I am living ; neither art thou igno- 
rant that, while waiting till time and mine own indus- 
try should improve my fortune, I have never failed in 
the respect due to thy honor. But thou hast cast aside 
every obligation due to my lawful love, and art going 
to make another man master of what is mine : a man 
who is not only enriched, but rendered eminently 
happy by his wealth ; and, in obedience to the will of 
Heaven, the only impediment to his supreme felicity I 
will remove, by withdrawing this wretched being. 
Long live the rich Camacho with the ungrateful Quit- 



156 WIT AND WISDOM 

eria! Long and happily may they live, and let poor 
Basilius die. who would have risen to good fortune had 
not poverty clipped his wings and laid him in an 
grave ! " 

S . saying, he plucked his start from the 
drawing out a short tuck, to which it had served as a 
scabbard, he fixed what might be ailed the hilt into 
the ground, and. with a nimble spring and resolute air/ 
he threw himself on the j : int; ~ hich. instantly : ppear- 
ing at his back, the poor wretch lay stretched on the 
ground, pierced through and through, and weltering 
in his blood. 

His friends, struck with horror and grief, rushed 
forward to help him. and Don Quixote, dismounting, 
hastened also to lend his aid. and taking the dying 
man in his arms, found that he was still alive. They 
would have drawn out the tuck, but the priest wh 
present thou?!.: that it should not 1 lone till he 
made his confession : as. the moment it was taken out 
of his body he would certainly expire. But Basilius, 
not having quite lost the \ >wer of uttei anc r. in a faint 
and doleful voice said : "If, cruel . in this 

my last and fatal agony, thou t give me thy 

hand, as my spouse, I should hope my rashness might 
find pardon in heaven, since it procured me the bless- 
ing of being thine.*" Upon whi ?st advised 
him to attend rath* salvation of his soul than 
to his bodily appetites, and \rdon 
of God for hi- sins, especially for this last ^ erate 
action. Basilius replied that he could not make 
confession till Quite] m her hand in i 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 157 

riage, as that would be a solace to his mind, and en- 
able him to confess his sins. 

Don Quixote, hearing the wounded man's request, 
said, in a loud voice, that Basilius had made a very 
just and reasonable request, and, moreover, a very 
practicable one ; and that it would be equally honor- 
able for Signor Camacho to take Quiteria, a widow of 
the brave Basilius, as if he received her at her father's 
hand ; nothing being required but the simple word, 
"Yes," which could be of no consequence, since, in 
these espousals, the nuptial bed must be the grave. 
Camacho heard all this, and was perplexed and unde- 
cided what to do or say ; but so much was he impor- 
tuned by the friends of Basilius to permit Quiteria to 
give him her hand, and thereby save his soul from 
perdition, that they at length moved, nay forced him 
to say that if it pleased Quiteria to give it to him, he 
should not object, since it was only delaying for a mo- 
ment the accomplishment of his wishes. They all im- 
mediately applied to Quiteria, and, with entreaties, 
tears, and persuasive arguments, pressed and impor- 
tuned her to give her hand to Basilius ; but she, harder 
than marble, and more immovable than a statue, re- 
turnsd no answer, until the priest told her that she must 
decide promptly, as the soul of Basilius was already 
between his teeth, and there was no time for hesitation. 

Then the beautiful Quiteria, in silence, and to all 
appearance troubled and sad, approached Basilius, 
whose eyes were already turned in his head, and he 
breathed short, and quick, muttering the name of Quit- 
eria, and giving tokens of dying more like a heathen 



158 WIT AND WISDOM 

than a Christian. At last Quiteria, kneeling down by 
him, made signs to him for his hand. Basilius un- 
closed his eyes, and fixing them steadfastly upon her, 
said 4 k O Quiteria ! thou relentest at a time when thy 
pity is a sword to put a final period to this wretched ' 
life ; for now I have not strength to bear the glory 
thou conferrest upon me in making me thine, nor will 
it suspend the pain which shortly will veil my eyes 
with the dreadful shadow of death. What I beg of 
thee, O fatal star of mine ! is that thou give not thy 
hand out of compliment, or again to deceive me, but to 
declare that thou bestowest it upon me as thy lawful 
husband, without any compulsion on thy will — for it 
would be cruel in this extremity to deal falsely or im- 
pose on him who has been so true to thee." 

Here he fainted, and the bystanders thought his soul 
was just departing. Quiteria, all modesty and bash- 
fulness, taking Basilius's right hand in hers, said: " Xo 
force would be sufficient to bias my will ; and there- 
fore, with all the freedom I have, I give thee my hand 
to be thy lawful wife, and receive thine, if it be as 
freely given, and if the anguish caused by thy rash act 
doth not trouble and prevent thee." 

"Yes, I give it thee," answered Basilius, " neither 
discomposed nor confused, but with the clearest under- 
standing that Heaven was ever pleased to bestow on 
me ; and so 1 give and engage myself to be thy hus- 
band." 

" And I to be thy wife," answered Quiteria, 
u whether thou livest many years, or art carried from 
my arms to the grave." 



OF DOX QUIXOTE. 159 

"For one so much wounded," observed Sancho, 
" this young man talks a great deal. Advise him to 
leave off his courtship and mind the business of his 
soul ; though to my thinking he has it more on his 
tongue than between his teeth." 

Basilius and Quite ria being thus, with hands joined, 
the tender-hearted priest, with tears in his eyes, pro- 
nounced the benediction upon them, and prayed to 
Heaven for the repose of the bridegroom ? s soul ; who, 
as soon as he had received the benediction, suddenly 
started up, and nimbly drew 7 out the tuck which was 
sheathed in his body. All the spectators were aston- 
ished, and some more simple than the rest cried out 
■" A miracle, a miracle ! " But Basilius replied, " Xo 
miracle, no miracle, but a stratagem, a stratagem ! " 

The priest, astonished and confounded, ran to feel, 
with both his hands, the wound, and found that the 
sword had passed, not through Basilius's flesh and ribs, 
but through a hollow iron pipe, cunningly fitted to the 
place, and filled with blood, so prepared as not to con- 
geal. In short, the priests, Camacho, and the rest of 
the spectators, found they were imposed upon, and 
completely duped. The bride showed no signs of 
regret at the artifice : on the contrary, hearing it said 
the marriage, as being fraudulent, was not valid, she 
said that she confirmed it anew ; it was,' therefore, 
generally supposed that the matter had been concerted 
with the privity and concurrence of both parties ; 
' which so enraged Camacho and his friends that they 
immediately had recourse to vengeance, and unsheath- 
ing abundance of swords they fell upon Basilius, in 



160 WIT AXD WISDOM 

whose behalf as many more were instantly drawn, and 
Don Quixote, leading the van on horseback, his lance 
upon his arm. and well covered with his shield, made 
them all give way. 

Don Quixote cried aloud, "Hold, sirs, hold! It is 
not right to avenge the injuries committed against us 
by love. Remember that the arts of warfare and court- 
ship are in some points alike ; in war, stratagems are 
lawful, so likewise are they in the conflicts and rival- 
ships of love, if the means employed be not dishonor- 
able. Quiteria and Basilius were destined for each 
other by the just and favoring will of Heaven. Cam- 
acho is rich, and may purchase his pleasure when, 
where and how he pleases. Basilius has but this one 
ewe-lamb ; and no one. however powerful, has a right 
to take it from him ; for those whom God hath joined 
let no man sunder, and whoever shall attempt it must 
first pass the point of this lance." Then he brandished 
it with such vigor and dexterity that he struck terror 
into all those who did not know him. 

Quiteria's disdain made such an impression upon 
Camacho, that he instantly banished her from his 
heart. The persuasions, therefore, of the priest, who 
was a prudent, well-meaning man, had their effect ; 
Camacho and his party sheathed their weapons and 
remained satisfied, blaming rather the fickleness of 
Quiteria than the cunning of Basilius. With much 
reason Camacho thought within himself that if Quite- 
ria loved Basilius when a virgin, she would love him 
also when married, and that he had more cause to 
thank Heaven for so fortunate am escape than to repine 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 161 

at the loss he had sustained. The disappointed bride- 
groom and his followers, being thus consoled and ap- 
peased, those of Basilius were so likewise ; and the 
rich Camacho, to show that his mind was free from 
resentment, would have the diversions and entertain- 
ments go on as if they had been really married. The 
happy pair, however, not choosing to share in them, 
retired to their own dwelling, accompanied by their 
joyful adherents ; for, if the rich man can draw after 
him attendants and flatterers, the poor man who is vir- 
tuous and deserving is followed by friends who honor 
and support him. 

Don Quixote joined the party of Basilius, having 
been invited by them as a person of worth and bravery; 
while Sancho, finding it impossible to remain and share 
the relishing delights of Camacho 's festival, which con- 
tinued till night, with a heavy heart accompanied his 
master, leaving behind the flesh-pots of Egypt, the 
skimmings of w T hich, though now almost consumed, still 
reminded him of the glorious abundance he had lost. 



" If love only were to be considered," said Don 
Quixote, " parents would no longer have the privilege 
of judiciously matching their children. Were daughters 
left to choose for themselves, there are those who would 
prefer their father's serving-man, or throw themselves 
away on some fellow they might chance to see in the 
street, mistaking, perhaps, an impostor and swaggering 
poltroon for a gentleman, since passion too easily blinds 
the understanding, so indispensably necessary in de- 
ciding on that most important point, matrimony, which 
11 



162 WIT AND WISDOM 

is peculiarly exposed to the danger of a mistake, and 
therefore needs all the caution that human prudence 
can supply, aided by the particular favor of Heaven. 
A person who proposes to take a long journey, if he is 
prudent, before he. sets forward will look out for some 
safe and agreeable companion ; and should not he who 
undertakes a journey for life use the same precaution, 
especially as his fellow-traveller is to be his companion 
at bed and board and in all other situations V The wife 
is not a commodity which, when once bought, you can 
exchange or return ; the marriage bargain, once struck, 
is irrevocable. It is a noose which, once thrown about 
the neck, turns to a Gordian knot, and cannot be un- 
loosed till cut asunder by the scythe of death.'' 



By the streets of " by-and-by " one arrives at the 
house of " never." 

God who °ives the wound sends the cure. 



Nobody knows what is to come. A great many 
hours come in between this and to-morrow ; and in 
one hour, yea, in one minute, down falls the house. 
I have seen rain and, sunshine at the same moment. 
A man may go to bed well at night and not be able to 
stir next morning ; and tell me who can boast of having 
driven a nail in fortune's wheel ? 



Between the yes and no of a woman I would not 
undertake to thrust the point of a pin. 



OF BOX QUIXOTE, 163 

11 Love, as I have heard say. wears spectacles, through 
which copper looks like gold, rags like rich apparel, and 
specks' in the eye like pearls." 

••A curse on thee, Sancho," said Don Quixote; 
4i what wouldst thou be at ? When once thy stringing 
of proverbs begins, Judas alone — I wish he had thee ! 
— can have patience to the end Tell me, animal ! 
what knowest thou of nails and wheels, or of anything 
else? "' 

" Oh, if I am not understood," replied Sancho, ht no 
wonder that what I say passes for nonsense. But no 
matter for that, — I understand myself. Xeither have 
I said many foolish things, only your worship is such a 
cricket." 

'•Critic, not cricket, fool! thou corrupter of good 
language ! " said the knight. 

'• Pray, sir, do not be so sharp upon me," answered 
Sancho, "for I was not bred at court nor studied in 
Salamanca, to know whether my words have a letter 
short or one too many. As Heaven shall save me, it 
is unreasonable to expect that beggarly Sayagues should 
talk like Toledans ; nay, even some of them are not 
over-nicely spoken. ' ' 



Purity, propriety, and elegance of style will always 
be found among polite, well-bred, and sensible men. 



I have heard it said, of your fencers that they can 
thrust you the point of a sword through the eye of a 
needle. 



lt>± WIT AND WISDOM 

O happy thou above all that live on the face of the 
earth, who, neither envying nor envied, canst take thy 
needful rest with tranquillity of soul, neither persecuted 
by enchanters nor affrighted by their machinations ! 
Sleep on ! a hundred times I say, sleep on ! No jeal- 
ousies on thy lady's account keep thee in perpetual 
watchings, nor do anxious thoughts of debts unpaid 
awake thee ; nor care how on the morrow thou and 
thy little straitened family shall be provided for. Am- 
bition disquiets thee not, nor does the vain pomp of the 
world disturb thee; for thy chief concern is the care 
of thy ass, since to me is committed the comfort and 
protection of thine own person, — a burden imposed on 
the master by nature and custom. The servant sleeps, 
and the master lies awake considering how he is to main- 
tain, assist, and do him kindness. The pain of seeing 
the heavens obdurate in withholding the moisture neces- 
sary to refresh the earth touches only the master, who 
is bound to provide in times of sterility and famine for 
those who served him in the season of fertility and 
abundance. 

So much thou art worth as thou hast, and so much 
thou hast as thou art worth. 



There are only two families in the world, — the have 
somethings and the have nothings. Nowadays we are 
apt to feel more often the pulse of property than of 
wisdom. 

An ass with golden trappings makes a better appear- 
ance than a horse wdth a pack-saddle. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 165 

" That ought not to be called deception which aims 
at a virtuous end," said Don Quixote ; " and no end 
is more excellent than the marriage of true lovers ; 
though love," added he, ' ; has its enemies, and none 
greater than hunger and poverty, for love is all gayety, 
joy, and content." 

SANCHO PAXZA ON DEATH. 

• 

"In good sooth, signor," said the squire, " there is 
no trusting to Mrs. Ghostly, I mean Death, who gob- 
bles up the gosling as well as the goose ; and, as I have 
heard our curate observe, tramples down the- lofty tur- 
rets of the prince as well as the lowly cottage of the 
swain. That same lady, who is more powerful than coy, 
knows not what it is to be dainty and squeamish ; but 
eats of everything, and crams her w r allet with people of 
all nations, degrees, and conditions; she is none of 
your laborers that take their afternoon's nap, but mows 
at all hours, cutting down the dry stubble as well as 
the green grass ; nor does she seem to chew r , but rather 
swallows and devours everything that falls in her way ; 
for she is gnawed by a dog's hunger that is never satis- 
fied ; and though she has no belly, plainly shows her- 
self dropsical, and so thirsty as to drink up the lives of 
all the people upon earth, just as one would swallow a 
draught of cool water." 

" Enough, friend Sancho,'' cried the knight, inter- 
rupting him in this place; u keep thyself w r ell, now 
thou art in order, and beware of stumbling again ; for 
really a good preacher could not speak more to the pur- 
pose than thou hast spoken upon Death, in thy rustic 



166 WIT AND WISDOM 

manner of expression ; I say unto thee, Sancho, if thy 
discretion were equal to thy natural parts, thou niightest 
ascend the pulpit, and go about teaching and preach- 
ing to admiration." 

" He is a good preacher who is a good liver," an- 
swered Panza, 4t and that is all the divinity I know." 

44 And that is sufficient," said the knight; " yet I 
shall never understand or comprehend, as the fear of 
God is the beginning of wisdom, how thou, who art 
more afraid of a lizard than of thy Maker, should be 
so wise V " 

" Signor," replied Sancho, u I desire your worship 
w T ould determine in your own affairs of chivalry, with- 
out taking the trouble to judge of other people's valor 
or fears ; for my own part, I am as pretty a fearer of 
God as one would desire to see in any neighbor's child ; 
wherefore, I beseech your worship, let me discuss this 
same scum ; for everything else is idle chat, of which we 
shall be able to *nve a bad account in the other world." 



" The poor man of honor (if a poor man can deserve 
that title) possesses, in a beautiful wife, a jewel ; and 
when that is taken away, he is deprived of his honor, 
which is murdered ; a beautiful and chaste woman, 
whose husband is poor, deserves to be crowned with 
laurel and palms of triumph ; for beauty alone attracts 
the inclinations of those who behold it ; just as the royal 
eagle and soaring hawk stoop to the savory lure ; but if 
that beauty is incumbered by poverty and want, it is 
likewise attacked by ravens, kites, and other birds of 
prey ; and if she who possesses it firmly withstands all 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 167 

these assaults, she well deserves to be called the crown 
of her husband. 

" Take notice, dearest Basilius," added the knight, 
; - it was the opinion of a certain sage, that there was 
but one good wife in the whole world ; and he ad- 
vised every husband to believe she had fallen to his 
share, and accordingly be satisfied with his lot. I 
myself am not married, nor hitherto have I entertained 
the least thought of changing my condition ; neverthe- 
less, I will venture to advise him who asks my advice, 
in such a manner, that he may find a woman to his 
wish ; in the first place, I would exhort him to pay more 
regard to reputation than to fortune ; for a virtuous 
woman does not acquire a good name merely by being 
virtuous ; she must likewise maintain the exteriors of 
deportment, for the honor of the sex suffers much 
more from levity and freedom of behavior in public, 
than from any private misdeeds. If thou bringest a 
good woman to thy house, it will be an easy task to pre- 
serve and even improve her virtue ; but, shouldst thou 
choose a wife of a different character, it will cost thee 
abundance of pains to mend her ; for it is not very 
l^racticable to pass from one extreme to another ; I do 
not say it is altogether impossible, though I hold it for a 
matter of much difficulty. ,, 



The ox that is loose is best licked. 



Sancho, who had been attentive to the student's dis- 
course, said : " Tell me, sir — so may heaven send you 
good luck with your books — can you resolve me — but 



168 WIT AND WISDOM 

I know you can, since you know every thing — who was 
the first man that scratched his head ? I for my part 
am of opinion it must have been our father Adam." 

" Certainly," answered the scholar ; " for there is no 
doubt but Adam had a head and hair ; and, this being 
granted, he, being the first man in the world, must 
needs have been the first who scratched his head." 

" That is what I think," said Sancho ; "but tell me 
now, who was the first tumbler in the world ? " 

" Truly, brother," answered the scholar, " I cannot 
determine that point till I have given it some consider- 
ation, which I will surely do when I return to my books, 
and will satisfy you when we see each other again, for 
I hope this will not be the last time." 

" Look ye, sir," replied Sancho, "be at no trouble 
about the matter, for I have already hit upon the answer 
to my question. Know, then, that the first tumbler 
was Lucifer, when he was cast or thrown headlong from 
heaven, and came tumbling down to the lowest abyss." 

" Sancho," quoth Don Quixote, " thou hast said 
more than thou art aware of ; for some there are who 
bestow much labor in examining and explaining things 
which when known are not worth recollecting." 



I am thoroughly satisfied that all the pleasures of 
this life pass away like a shadow or dream, or fade 
like a flower of the field. 



Patience, and shuffle the cards*. 



We are all bound to respect the aged. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 169 

Tell me thy company and I ts ill tell thee what thou 
art. 

Whatever is uncommon appears impossible. 



THE BRAYING AXDKRMKN. 

"Yon must know, gentlemen, that in a town four 
leagues and a half from this place, a certain alderman 
happened to lose his ass. all through the artful contri- 
vance (too long to be told) of a wench his maid-ser- 
vant : and though he tried every means to recover his 
beast, it was to no purpose. Fifteen days passed, as 
public fame reports, after the ass was missing, and while 
the unlucky alderman was standing in the market-place, 
another alderman of the same town came up to him, 
and said. • Pay me for my good news, gossip, for your 
ass has made its appearance/ 

•••Most willingly, neighbor.' answered the other; 
c bat tell me — where has he been seen ? ' 

•• • On the mountain/ answered the other : • I saw him 
this morning, with no panel or furniture upon him 
of any kind, and so lank that it was grievous to behold 
him. 1 would have driven him before me and brought 
him to you. but he is already become so shy that when 
I went near him he took to his heels and fled to a dis- 
tance from me. Xow. if you like it we will both go 
seek him : but first let me put up this of mine at home, 
and I will return instantly/ 

•••You will do me a great favor.' said the owner of 
the lost ass. • and I shall be happy at any time to do as 
much for you.' 



170 WIT AND WISDOM 

" In short the two aldermen, hand in hand and side 
by side, trudged together up the hill ; and on coming 
to the place where they expected to find the ass, they 
found him not, nor was he anywhere to be seen, though 
they made diligent search. Being thus disappointed, 
the alderman who had seen him said to the, other, 
4 Hark you, friend, I have thought of a stratagem by 
which we shall certainly discover this animal, even 
though he had crept into the bowels of the earth, instead 
of the mountain ; and it is this : I can bray marvellously 
well, and if you can do a little in that way the busi- 
ness is done.' 

"'A little, say you, neighbor?' quoth the other, 
' before Heaven, in braying I yield to none — no, not 
to asses themselves.' 

" ' We shall soon see that,' answered the second 
alderman ; 'go you on one side of the mountain, while 
I take the other, and let us walk round it, and every 
now and then you shall bray, and I will bray ; and the 
ass will certainly hear and answer us, if he still re- 
mains in these parts.' 4 Verily, neighbor, your device 
is excellent, and worthy your good parts,' said the 
owner of the ass. 

"They then separated, according to agreement, and 
both began braying at the same instant, with such 
marvellous truth of imitation that, mutually deceived, 
each ran towards the other, not doubting but that the 
ass was found ; and, on meeting, the loser said, ' Is 
i" possible, friend, that it was not my ass that 
brayed ? ' 

" i No, it was I,' answered the other. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 171 

" 'I declare, then/ said the owner, 'that, as far as 
regards braying, there is not the least difference be- 
tween you and an ass ; for in my life I never heard 
anything more natural.' 

" ' These praises and compliments,' answered the 
author of the stratagem, ' belong rather to you than to 
me, friend ; for by Him that made me, you could give 
the odds of two brays to the greatest and most skilful 
braver in the world ; for your tones are rich, your time 
correct, your notes well sustained, and cadences abrupt 
and beautiful ; in short, 1 own myself vanquished, and 
yield to you the palm in this rare talent.' 

" ' Truly,' answered the ass owner, ' I shall value 
and esteem myself the more henceforth, since 1 am not 
without some endowment. It is true, I fancy that I 
brayed indifferently well, yet never flattered myself that 
I excelled so much as you are pleased to say. ' 

" ' I tell you, 1 answered the second, ' there are rare 
abilities often lost to the world, and the}' are ill-be- 
stowed on those who know not how to employ them 
to advantage.' 

"'Right, brother,' quoth the owner, 'though, ex- 
cept in cases like the present, ours may not turn to 
much account ; and even in this business, Heaven 
grant it may prove of service.' 

"This said, they separated again, to resume their 
braying ; and each time were deceived as before, and 
met again, till they at length agreed, as a signal, to 
distinguish their own voices from that of the ass, that 
they should bray twice together, one immediately after 
the other. Thus, doubling their brayings, they made 



172 WIT AND WISDOM 

the tour of the whole mountain, without having any 
answer from the stray ass, not even by signs. How, 
indeed, could the poor creature answer, whom at last 
they found in a thicket, half devoured by wolves ? On 
seeing the body, the owner said. • Truly, I wondered 
at his silence : for. had he not been dead, he certainly 
would have answered us. or he were no true ass : never- 
theless, neighbor, though I have found him dead, my 
trouble in the search has been well repaid in listening 
to your exquisite braying.' 

" 4 It is in good hands, friend.' answered the other ; 
'for if the abbot sings well, the novice comes not far 
behind him.' 

" Hereupon they returned home hoarse and discon- 
solate, and told their friends and neighbors all that 
had happened to them in their search after the ass : 
each of them extolling the other for his excellence in 
braying. The story spread all over the adjacent vil- 
lages, and the devil, who sleeps not. as he lov--s to sow 
discord wherever he can. raising a bustle in the wind, 
and mischief out of nothing, so ordered it that all the 
neighboring villagers, at the sight of any of our towns- 
people, would immediately begin to bray, as it were 
hitting us in the teeth with the notable talent of our 
aldermen. The boys fell to it. which was the same as 
falling into the hands and mouths of a legion of devils ; 
and thus braying spread far and wide, insomuch that 
the natives of the town of Bray are as well known and 
distinguished as the negroes are from white men. 
And this unhappy jest has been carried so far that our 
people have often sallied out m arms against their 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 173 

scoffers, and given them battle : neither king nor rook, 
nor fear nor shame, being able to restrain them. To- 
morrow, I believe, or next day, those of our town will 
take the field against the people of another village 
about two leagues from us, being one of those which 
persecute us most : and I have brought the lances and 
halberds which you saw, that we may be well prepared 
for them." 

The hypocrite who cloaks his knavery is less dan- 
gerous to the commonwealth than he who transgresses 
in the face of day. 

He who only wears the garb of piety does less harm 
than the professed sinner. 

I had rather serve the king in his wars abroad, than 
be the lackey of any beggarly courtier at home. 



There is nothing more honorable, next to the ser- 
vice which you owe to God, than to serve your king 
and natural lord, especially in the profession of arms, 
which, if less profitable than learning, far exceeds it 
in glory. More great families, it is true, have been 
established by learning, yet there is in the martial 
character a certain splendor, which seems to exalt it 
far above all other pursuits. But allow me, sir, to 
offer you a piece of advice, which, believe me, you will 
find worth your attention. Xever suffer your mind to 
dwell on the adverse events of your life ; for the worst 
that can befall you is death, and when attended with 



174 WIT AND WISDOM 

honor there is no event so glorious. Julius Caesar. 
that valorous Roman, being asked which was the kind 
of death to be preferred, •• That.*' said he. "which is 
sudden and unforeseen ! 

Though he answered like a heathen, who knew not 
the true God. yet. considering human infirmity, it was 
well said. For. supposing you should be cut off in the 
very first encounter, either by cannon-shot or the 
springing of amine, what does it signify? it is but 
dying, which is inevitable, and, being over, there it 
ends. Terence observes that the corpse of a man who 
is slain in battle looks better than the living soldier 
who has saved himself by flight : and the good soldier 
rises in estimation according to the measure of his 
obedience to those who command him. Observe, 
moreover, my son. that a soldier had better smell of 
gunpowder than of musk : and if old age overtakes 
you in this noble profession, though lame and maimed, 
and covered with wounds, it will find you also covered 
with honor ; and of such honor as poverty itself can- 
not deprive you. From poverty, indeed, you are se- 
cure ; for care is now taken that veteran and disabled 
soldiers shall not be exposed to want, nor be fcre 
as many do their negro slaves, when old and past ser- 
vice, turning them out of their houses, and. under 
pretence of giving them freedom, leave them slave 
hunger, from which they can have no relief but in 
death. 

There are often rare abilities lost to the world that 
are but ill-bestowed on those who do not know how to 
employ them to advantage. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 175 

"Who reads and travels much, sees and learns much. 



It is the prerogative of God alone to truly compre- 
hend all things. To Him there is nothing past or 
future. Everything is present. 



There is nothing that Time, the discoverer of all 
things, will not bring to light, even though it be hid- 
den in the bowels of the earth. 



Length begets loathing. 



Heaven is merciful, and sends relief in the greatest 
distress. 

Affectation is the devil. 



Heaven help every one to what is their just due, but 
let us have plain dealing. 



When choler once is born, 
The tongue all curb doth scorn. 



When a brave man flies, he must have discovered 
foul play. 

To retire is not to fly. The valor which has not pru- 
dence for its basis is termed rashness, and the successful 
exploits of the rash are rather to be ascribed to good 
fortune than to courage. 



176 WIT AND WISDOM 

Other men's pains are easily borne. 



He who errs and mends, 
Himself to Heaven commends 



Those who sin and kiss the rod, 
Find favor in the sight of God. 



If yon obey the commands of your lord, 
You may sit as a guest at his board. 



In this world there is nothing but plots and counter- 
plots, mines and countermines. 



A good paymaster needs no surety ; and where there 
is plenty, dinner is soon dressed. 



Often the hare starts where she is least expected. 



I have heard it said that the power called Nature is 
like a potter, who, if he can make one beautiful vessel, 
can in like manner make two, three, ay, and a hundred. 



Wit and gay conceits proceed not from dull heads. 



Every man must speak of his wants wherever he 
may be. 

Modesty is as becoming a knight-errant as courage. 



The master is respected in proportion to the discre- 
tion and good breeding of his servants. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. Ill 

Who sets up for a talker and a* wit, sinks at the first 
trip into a contemptible buffoon. 



The weapons of gownsmen, like those of women, are 
their tongues. 

Keep company with the good, and you will be one of 
them. 

Not where you were born, but where you were bred. 



Well sheltered shall he be 
Who leans against a sturdy tree. 



An affront must come from a person who not only 
gives it, but who can maintain it when it is given ; an 
injury may come from any hand. 



He who can receive no affront can give none. 



One must live long to see much. 



He who lives Ion 2; must suffer much. 



To deprive a knight-errant of his mistress is to rob 
him of the eyes with which he sees, the sun by which 
he is enlightened, and the support by which he is main- 
tained. I have many times said, and now I repeat the 
observation, that a knight-errant without a mistress is 
like a tree without leaves, a building without cement, 
and a shadow without the substance by which it is 
produced. 



178 WIT AND WISDOM 

Possessing beauty without blemish, dignity without 
pride, love with modesty, politeness springing from 
courtesy, and courtesy from good breeding, and, finally, 
of illustrious descent : for the beauty that is of a noble 
race shines with more splendor than that which is 
meanly born. 

Virtue ennobles blood, and a virtuous person of 
humble birth is more estimable than a vicious person 
of rank. 

I must inform your graces that Sancho Panza is 
one of the most pleasant squires that ever served a 
knight-errant. Sometimes his simplicity is so arch, 
that to consider whether he is more fool or wag yields 
abundance of pleasure. He has roguery enough to pass 
for a knave, and absurdities sufficient to confirm him a 
fool. He doubts everything and believes everything ; 
and often, when I think he is going to discharge nonsense, 
he will utter apothegms that will raise him to the skies. 
In a word, I would not exchange him for any other 
squire, even with a city to boot ; and therefore I am in 
doubt whether or not it will be expedient to send him 
to that government which your grace has been so good 
as to bestow upon him, although I can perceive in him 
a certain aptitude for such an office ; so that, when his 
understanding is a very little polished, he will agree 
with any government, like the king with his customs ; 
for we know by repeated experience that great talents 
and learning are not necessary in a governor, as there 
are a hundred at least who govern like gerfalcons, 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 179 

though they can hardly read their mother tongue. Pro- 
vided their intention is righteous and their desire to do 
justice, they will never want counsellors to direct them 
in every transaction, like your military governors, who 
being illiterate themselves, never decide without the 
advice of an assessor. I shall advise him corruption 
to eschew, but never quit his due, and inculcate some 
other small matters that are in my head, which, in 
process of time, may redound to his own interest as 
well as to the advantage of the island under his com- 
mand. 

The customs of countries, or of great men's Louses, 
are good as far as they are agreeable. 



" Faith, madam," qnoth Sancho, " that same scruple 
is an honest scruple, and need not speak in a whisper, 
but plain out, or as it lists ; for I know it says true, and 
had T been wise, I should long since have left my mas- 
ter but such is my lot, or such my evil-errantry, I 
cannot help it, — follow him I must. We are both 
of the same town; I have eaten his bread ; I love him, 
and he returns my love ; he gave me his ass-colts. 
Above all, I am faithful, so that nothing in the world 
can part us but the sexton's spade and shovel ; and if 
your highness does not choose to give me the govern- 
ment you promised, God made me without it, and per- 
haps it may be all the better for my conscience if I do 
not get it ; for fool as I am, I understand the proverb, 
4 The pismire had wings to her sorrow;' and perhaps it 
may be easier for Sancho the squire to get to heaven 



180 WIT AND WISDOM 

than for Sancho the governor. They make as good 
bread here as in France, and by night all cats are gray. 
Unhappy is he who has not breakfasted at three, and 
no stomach is a span bigger than another, and may be 
filled as they say, with straw or with hay. 

" Of the little birds in the air, God himself takes the 
care ; and four yards of coarse cloth of Cuenza are 
warmer than as many of fine Segovia serge ; and in 
travelling from this world to the next, the road is no 
wider for the prince than the peasant. The Pope's 
body takes np no more room than that of the sexton, 
though a loftier person, for in the grave we must pack 
close together whether we like it or not ; so good- night 
to all. 

" And let me tell you again that if your highness will 
not give me the island because I am a fool, I will be 
wise enough not to care a fig for it. I have heard say 
the devil lurks behind the cross ; all is not gold that 
glitters. From the plough-tail Bamba was raised to 
the throne of Spain, and from his riches and revels 
was Roderigo cast down to be devoured by serpents, 
if ancient ballads tell the truth." 



Xone shall dare the loaf to steal 

From him that sifts and kneads the meal. 



An old dog is not to be coaxed with a crust. 



Xo man is ever a scholar at his birth, and bishops 
are made of men, not of stones. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 181 

There is a Judge in heaven who knows the heart. 



A good name is better than tons of gold. 

" And you, Signor Panza, be quiet and leave the care 
of making much of Dapple to me ; for being a jewel of 
Sancho's, I will lay him upon the apple of my eye." 

k ' Let him lie in the stable, my good lady," answered 
Sancho, " for upon the apple of your grandeur's eye 
neither lie nor I are worthy to lie one single moment, — 
'.slife ! they should stick me like a sheep sooner than I 
would consent to such a thing ; for though my master 
says that, in respect to good manners, we should rather 
lose the game by a card too much than too little, yet, 
when the business in hand is about asses and eyes, we 
should step warily, with compass in hand." 

11 Carry him, Sancho," quoth the Duchess, " to your 
government, and there you may regale him as you 
please, and set him free from further labor." 

" Think not, my lady Duchess," quoth Sancho, " that 
you have said much, for I have seen more asses than 
one go to governments, and therefore, if I should carry 
mine, it would be nothing new." 



SANCHO S PLIGHT. 

The Duke and Duchess were extremely diverted with 
the humors of their two guests ; and resolving to im- 
prove their sport by practising some- pleasantries that 
should have the appearance of a romantic adventure, 
they contrived to dress up a very choice entertainment 
from Don Quixote's account of the Cave of Montesinos, 



182 WIT AND WISDOM 

taking that subject because the Duchess had observed 
with astonishment that Sancho now believed his lady 
Dulcinea was really enchanted, although he himself had 
been her sole enchanter ! Accordingly, after the ser- 
vants had been well instructed as to their deportment 
towards Don Quixote, a boar-hunt was proposed, and 
it was determined to set oat in five or six days with a 
princely train of huntsmen. The knight was presented 
with a hunting suit proper for the occasion, which, 
however, he declined, saying that he must soon return 
to the severe duties of his profession, when, having no 
sumpters nor wardrobes, such things would be super- 
fluous. But Sancho readily accepted a suit of fine green 
cloth which was offered to him, intending to sell it the 
first opportunity. 

The appointed day being come, Don Quixote armed 
himself, and Sancho in his new suit mounted Dapple 
(which he preferred to a horse that was offered him) 
and joined the troop of hunters. The Duchess issued 
forth magnificently attired, and Don Quixote, out of 
pure politeness, would hold the reins of the palfrey, 
though the Duke was unwilling to allow it. Hav- 
ing arrived at the proposed scene of their diversion, 
which was in a wood between two lofty mountains, 
they posted themselves in places where the toils were 
to be pitched ; and all the party having taken their 
different stations, the sport began with prodigious noise 
and clamor, insomuch that between the shouts of the 
huntsmen, the cry of the hounds, and the sound of 
the horns, they could not hear each other. 

The Duchess alighted, and with a boar-spear in her 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 183 

hand, took her stand in a place where she expected 
the boars would pass. The Duke and Don Quixote 
dismounted also, and placed themselves by her side ; 
while Sancho took his station behind them all, with 
his Dapple, whom he would not quit, lest some mis- 
chance should befall him. Scarcely had they ranged 
themselves in order when a hideous boar of monstrous 
size rushed out of cover, pursued by the dogs and hunt- 
ers, and made directly towards them, gnashing his teeth 
and tossing foam with his mouth. 

Don Quixote, on seeing him approach, braced his 
shield, and drawing his sword, stepped before the rest 
to meet him. The Duke joined him with his boar- 
spear, and the Duchess would have been the foremost 
had not the Duke prevented her. Sancho alone stood 
aghast, and at the sight of the fierce animal, leaving 
even his Dapple, ran in terror towards a lofty oak, in 
which he hoped to be secure ; but his hopes were in 
vain, for, as he was struggling to reach the top, and 
had got half-way up, unfortunately a branch to which 
he clung, gave way, and falling with it, he was caught 
by the stump of another, and here left suspended in the 
air, so that he could neither get up nor down. 

Finding himself in this situation, with his new green 
coat tearing, and almost in reach of the terrible crea- 
ture should it chance to come that way. he began to 
bawl so loud and to call for help so vehemently, that 
all who heard him and did not see him thought verily 
he was between the teeth of some wild beast. The 
tusked boar, however, was soon laid at length by the 
numerous spears that were levelled at him from all 



181 WIT AND W1SI 

sides, at which time Sancho's cries and lament : 
reached the ears of Don Quixote, who, turning round, 
beheld him hanging from the oak with his he in- 

wards, and close by him stood Dapple, who never forsoc k 
him iu adversity, — indeed, it was remarked by Cid 
Hamet, that he seldom saw Sancho Panz:: without 
Dapple, or Dapple without Sancho Panza, such ^vas 
the amity and cordial love that subsisted between 
them ! 

Don Quixote hastened to the assistance of his s 
who was no sooner released than he began to examine 
the rent in his hunting suit, which grieved him to the 
soul, for he looked upon that suit as a rich inherit: 

The huge animal they had slain was laid across 
a sumpter-mule. and after covering it with branches of 
rosemary and myrtle, they carried it, as the spoils : 
victory, to a large field-tent, erected in the midst : the 
wood, where a sumptuous entertainment was prepared, 
worthy of the magnificence of the donor. Sancho, 
showing the wounds of the torn garments :: the Duch- 
ess, said : " Had hares or birds been our game, I should 
not have had this misfortune. For my nnot 

think what pleasure there can be in beating about for 
a monster that, if it reaches you with a tu>k. n: 
the death of you. There is an old ballad « :'.. says, — 

•• • May fate of Fabila be thkr. 

And make thee food for bears or swine.' 

81 That Fabila/' said Don Quixot-e. . king of 

the Goths, who, going to the chase, was devours 
a bear. ' ' 



OF DON QUIXOTE 185 

u What I mean," quoth Sancho, " is, that I would 
not have kings and other great folks run into such 
dangers merely for pleasure ; and, indeed, methinks 
it ought to be none to kill poor beasts that never meant 
any harm." 

ik You are mistaken, Sancho," said the duke, " hunt- 
ing wild beasts is the most proper exercise for knights 
and princes. The chase is an image of war : there you 
have stratagems, artifices, and ambuscades to be em- 
ployed, in order to overcome your enemy with safety to 
yourself. There, too, you are often exposed to the 
extremes of cold and heat ; idleness and ease are de- 
spised ; the body acquires health and vigorous activity: 
in short, it is an exercise which may be beneficial to 
many and injurious to none. Besides, it is not a vul- 
gar amusement, but, like hawking, is the peculiar sport 
of the great. Therefore, Sancho, change your opinion 
before you become a governor, for then you will find 
your account in these diversions." 

" Not so, i' faith," replied Sancho, " the good gov- 
ernor and the broken leg should keep at home. It 
would be fine, indeed, for people to come after him 
about business and find him gadding in the mountains 
for his pleasure. At that rate what would become of 
his government? In good truth, sir, hunting and such 
like pastimes are rather for your idle companions than 
for governors. The way I mean to divert myself shall 
be with brag at Easter and at bowls on Sundays and 
holidays ; as for your hunting, it befits neither my con- 
dition nor conscience." 

" Heaven grant you prove as good as you promise," 



186 WIT AND WISDOM 

said the duke, "but saying and doing are often wide 
apart." 

" Be that as it will," replied Sancho, '* the good 
paymaster wants no pawn ; and God's help is better 
than early rising , and the belly carries the legs, and 
not the legs the belly, — I mean that, with the help of 
Heaven and a good intention, I warrant I shall govern 
better than a gos-hawk. Ay, ay, let them put their 
fingers in my mouth and try whether or not I can 
bite." 

tk A curse upon thy proverbs," said Don Quixote, 
"when will the day come that I shall hear thee utter 
One coherent sentence without that base intermixture ! 
Let this blockhead alone, I beseech your excellencies, 
He will grind your souls to death, not between two, but 
two thousand proverbs, all timed as w T ell and as much 
to the purpose as I wish God may grant him health, or 
me, if I desire to hear them." 

u Sancho Panza's proverbs," said the duchess, " though 
more numerous than those of the Greek commentator, 
are equally admirable for their sententious brevity. 1 ' 



He who has been a good squire will never be a bad 
governor. 

A bad cloak often covers a good drinker. 



When a friend drinks one's health, who can be so 
hard-hearted as not to pledge him ? 



God's help is better than early rising. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 187 

Flame may give light and bonfires may illuminate, 
yet we may easily be burnt by them ; but music is 
always a sign of feasting and merriment. 



THE ACCOUNT OF THE METHOD PRESCRIBED TO DON 
QUIXOTE FOR DISENCHANTING DULCINEA ; WITH 
OTHER WONDERFUL EVENTS. 

As the agreeable music approached, they observed 
that it attended a stately triumphal car, drawn by six 
gray mules covered with white linen, and upon each of 
them rode a penitent" of light, clothed also in white, and 
holding a lighted torch in his hand. The car was more 
than double the size of the others which had passed, 
and twelve penitents were ranged in order within it, 
all carrying lighted torches, — a sight which at once 
caused surprise and terror. Upon an elevated throne 
sat a nymph, covered with a thousand veils of silver 
tissue, bespangled with innumerable flowers of gold, 
so that her dress, if not rich, was gay and glittering. 
Over her head was thrown a transparent gauze, so thin 
that through its folds might be seen a most beautiful 
face ; and from the multitude of lights, it was easy to 
discern that she was young as well as beautiful, for she 
was evidently under twenty years of age, though not 
less than seventeen. Close by her sat a figure, clad in 
a magnificent robe reaching to the feet, having his head 
covered with a black veil. 

The moment this vast machine arrived opposite to 
where the duke and duchess and Don Quixote stood, 
the attending music ceased, as well as the harps and 



188 WIT AND WISDOM 

kites within the car. The figure in the gown then 
stood up, and throwing open the robe and uncovering 
his face; displayed the ghastly countenance of death, 
looking so terrific that Don Quixote started, Sancho 
was struck with terror, and even the duke and duchess 
seemed to betray some symptoms of fear. This living 
Death, standing erect, in a dull and drowsy tone and 
with a sleepy articulation, spoke as follows : — 

THE ENCHANTER'S ERRAND, 

Merlin I am, miscalled the devil's son 
In lying annals, authorized by time ; 
Monarch supreme, and great depositary 
Of magic art and Zoroastic skill ; 
Rival of envious ages, that would hide 
The glorious deeds of errant cavaliers, 
Favored by me and my peculiar charge. 
Though vile enchanters, still on mischief bent, 
To plague mankind their baleful art employ. 
Merlin's soft nature, ever prone to good, 
His power inclines to bless the human race. 

In Hades' chambers, where my busied ghost 
Was forming spells and mystic characters, 
Dulcinea's voice, peerless Tobosan maid, 
With mournful accents reached my pitying ears ; 
I knew her woe, her metamorphosed form, 
From high-born beauty in a palace graced, 
To the loathed features of a cottage wench. 
With sympathizing grief I straight revolved 
The numerous tomes of my detested art, 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 189 

And in the hollow of this skeleton 
My soul enclosing, hither am I come, 
To tell the cure of such uncommon ills. 

O glory thou of all that case their limbs 
In polished steel and fenceful adamant ! 
Light, beacon, polar star, and glorious guide 
Of all who, starting from the lazy down, 
Banish ignoble sleep for the rude toil 
And hardy exercise of errant arms ! 
Spain's boasted pride, La Mancha's matchless knight, 
Whose valiant deeds outstrip pursuing fame ! 
'Wouldst thou to beauty's pristine state restore 
The enchanted dame, Sancho, thy faithful squire, 
Must to his brawny buttocks, bare exposed, 
Three thousand and three hundred stripes apply, 
Such as may sting and give him smarting pain : 
The authors of her change have thus decreed, 
And this is Merlin's errand from the shades. 



THE PARLEY ABOUT THE PENANCE. 

"What!" quoth Sancho, "three thousand lashes! 
Odd's-flesh ! I will as soon give myself three stabs as 
three single lashes, much less three thousand ! The 
devil take this way of disenchanting ! I cannot see what 
my buttocks have to do with enchantments. Before 
Heaven ! if Signor Merlin can find out no other way to 
disenchant the lady Dulcinea del Toboso, enchanted 
she may go to her grave for me ! " 

" Not lash thyself! thou garlic-eating wretch!" 
quoth Don Quixote ; " I shall take thee to a tree, and 



190 WIT AND WISDOM 

tie thee naked as thou wert born, and there, not three 
thousand and three hundred, but six thousand six 
hundred lashes will I give thee, and those so well laid 
on that three thousand three hundred hard tugs shall not 
tug them off. So answer me not a word, scoundrel ! 
for I will tear thy very soul out ! " 

" It must not be so," said Merlin ; " the lashes that 
honest Sancho is to receive must not be applied by 
force, but with his good-will, and at whatever time he 
pleases, for no term is fixed ; and furthermore, he is 
allowed, if he please, to save himself half the trouble 
of applying so many lashes, by having half the number 
laid on by another hand, provided that hand be some- 
what heavier than his own." 

"Neither another hand nor my own," quoth Sancho, 
" no hand, either heavy or- light, shall touch my flesh. 
Was the lady Dulcinea brought forth by me that my 
posteriors must pay for the transgressions of her eyes ? 
My master, indeed, who is part of her, since at every 
step he is calling her his life, his soul, his support and 
stay, — he it is who ought to lash himself for her and 
do all that is needful for her delivery ; but for me to 
whip myself, — no, I pronounce it ! " 

No sooner had Sancho thus declared himself than 
the spangled nymph who sat by the side of Merlin 
arose, and throwing aside her veil, discovered a face 
of extraordinary beauty ; and with a masculine air 
and no very amiable voice, addressed herself to San- 
cho : " O wretched squire, with no more soul than a 
pitcher ! thou heart of cork and bowels of flint ! hadst 
thou been required, nose-slitting thief ! to throw thyself 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 191 

from some high tower ; hadst thou been desired, enemy 
of human kind ! to eat a dozen of toads, two dozen of 
lizards, and three dozen of snakes ; hadst thou been 
requested to kill thy wife and children with some 
bloody and sharp scimitar, — no wonder if thou hadst 
betrayed some squeamishness ; but to hesitate about 
three thousand three hundred lashes, which there is 
not a wretched school-boy but receives every month, ifc 
amazes, stupefies, and affrights the tender bowels of all 
who hear it, and even of all who shall hereafter be told 
it. Cast, thou marble-hearted wretch ! — cast, I say, 
those huge goggle eyes upon these lovely balls of mine, 
that shine like glittering stars, and thou wilt see them 
weep, drop by drop, and stream after stream, making 
furrows, tracks, and paths down these beautiful cheeks! 
Relent, malicious and evil-minded monster! Be moved 
by my blooming youth, which, though yet in its teens, 
is pining and withering beneath the vile bark of a 
peasant wench ; and if at this moment I appear other- 
wise, it is by the special favor of Signor Merlin, here 
present, hoping that these charms may soften that iron 
heart, for the tears of afflicted beauty turn rocks into 
cotton and tigers into iambs. Lash, untamed beast ! 
lash away on that brawny flesh of thine, and rouse from 
that base sloth which only inclines thee to eat and eat 
again, and restore to me the delicacy of my skin, the 
sweetness of my temper, and all the charms of beauty. 
And if for my sake thou wilt not be mollified into rea- 
sonable compliance, let the anguish of that miserable 
knight stir thee to compassion, — thy master, I mean, 
whose soul I see sticking crosswise in his throat, not 



192 WIT AXD WISDOM 

ten inches from his lips, waiting only thy cruel or kind 

answer either to fly out of his mouth or to return joy- 
fully into his bosom.'" 

Don Quixote, here putting his finger to his throat, 
" Before Heaven ! " said he, " Dulcinea is right, for 

I here feel my soul sticking in my throat like the stop- 
per of a crossbow ! " 

•• What say you to that. Sancho ? " quoth the duchess. 
"I say. madam."' answered Sancho, a what I have 
already said, that as to the lashes. I pronounce them." 
"Renounce, you should say, Sancho," quoth the duke, 

II and not pronounce." 

'•Please your grandeur to let me alone," replied 
Sancho. '-for 1 cannot stand now to a letter more or 

less. These lashes so torment me that I know not 

* 

what I say or do. But I would fain know one thing 
from the Lady Dulcinea del Toboso. and that is. where 
she learnt her manner of asking a favor ? She comes 
to desire me to tear my flesh with stripes, and at the 
same time lays upon me such a bead-roll of ill names 
that the devil may bear them for me. What ! does she 
think my flesh is made of brass ? or that I care a rush 
whether she is enchanted or not ? Where are the pres- 
ents she has brought to soften me ? Instead of a basket 
of fine linen shirts, nightcaps, and socks (though I wear 
none) . here is nothing but abuse. Every one knows that 
1 the golden load is a burden light ; ' that • gifts will 
make their way through stone walls : ' • pray devoutly 
and hammer on stoutly ; ' and ' one take is worth two 
I ? 11 give thee's.' There 's his worship my master, too, 
instead of wheedling and coaxing me to make myself 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 193 

wool and carded cotton, threatens to tie me naked to a 
tree and double the dose of stripes. These tender- 
hearted gentlefolks ought to remember, too, that they 
not only desire to have a squire whipped, but a gov- 
ernor, making no more of it than saying, ' Drink with 
your cherries.' Let them learn, — plague take them! 
— let them learn how to ask and entreat, and mind 
their breeding. All times are not alike, nor are men 
always in a humor for all things. At this moment ray 
heart is ready to burst with grief to see this rent in 
my jacket, and people come to desire that I would also 
tear my flesh, and that, too, of my own good will. I 
have just as much mind to the thing as to turn 
Turk." 

" In truth, friend Sancho," said the duke, " if you 
do not relent and become softer than a ripe fig, you 
finger no government. It were good indeed, that I 
should send my islanders a cruel flinty-hearted gov- 
ernor ; one who relents not at the tears of afflicted dam- 
sels, nor at the entreaties of wise, awful, and ancient 
enchanters, and sages. In fine, Sancho, either you 
must whip yourself, or let others whip you, or be no 
governor." 

"My lord," answered Sancho, "may I not be al- 
lowed two days to consider what is best for me to do?" 

" No, in no wise," quoth Merlin ; "here, at this instant 
and upon this spot, the business must be settled : or 
Dulcinea must return to Montesinos' cave, and to her 
former condition of a country wench ; or else in her 
present form be carried to the Elysian fields, where 
she must wait till the number of lashes be fulfilled." 
13 



194 WIT AND WISDOM 

••Come, honest Sancho." quoth the duchess, "be of 
good cheer, and show gratitude for the bread you have 
eaten of yom master Don Quixote, whom we are all 

bound to serve for his good qualities and his high 
chivalries. Say. yes. son. to this whipping bout, and 
the devil take the devil, and let the wretched fear 5 
for a good heart breaks bad fortune, as you weM] 
know." 

•• Hark you. Signer Merlin," quoth Sancho, address- 
ing himself to the sane : -pray will you tell me 
thing — how comes it about that the devil-courier just 
now brought a message to my master from Signor 
Montesinos. saying that he would be here anon, to give 
directions about this disenchantment : and yet we 
have seen nothing of them all this while? " r 

" Pshaw ! " replied Merlin, '"the devil is an ass and 
a lying rascal : he was sent from me and not from 
Montesinos. who is still in his cave contriving. :r 
rather awaiting, the end of his enchantment, for the 
tail is yet unnayed. If he owes you money, or you 
have any other business with him. he shah 
coming in a trice, when and where you think lit : and 
therefore come to a decision, and consent to this small 
:■-:-. from which both your soul and body will 
receive marvellous benefit ; your soul by an act of 
charity, and your body by a wholesome and til 
r ." 

•• How the world swarms with doc nth San- 

cho, "the very enchanters seem to be of a t: 
Well, since everybody tells me so. though the tin 
out of ah reason. I promise to give myself the three thou- 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 195 

sand three hundred lashes, upon condition that I may 
lay them on whenever I please, without being tied to 
days or times ; and I will endeavor to get out of debt 
as soon as I possibly can, that the beauty of my lady 
Dulcinea del Toboso may shine forth to all the world ; 
as it seems she is really beautiful, which I much 
doubted. Another condition is, that I will not be 
bound to draw blood, and if some lashes happen only 
to fly-flap, they shall all go into the account. More- 
over if I should mistake in the reckoning, Signor Mer- 
lin here, who knows everything, shall give me notice 
how many I w T ant or have exceeded." 

" As for exceedings, there is no need of keeping ac- 
count of them," answered Merlin ; '-for when the 
number is completed, that instant will the lady Dulci- 
nea del Toboso be disenchanted, and come full of grat- 
itude in search of good Sancho, to thank and even 
reward him for the generous deed. So that no scruples 
are necessary about surplus and deficiency ; and 
Heaven forbid that I should allow anybody to be 
cheated of a single hair of their head." 

"Go to, then, in God's name," quoth Sancho; "I 
must submit to my ill fortune : I say I consent to the 
penance upon the conditions I have mentioned. " 

Xo sooner had Sancho pronounced his consent than 
the innumerable instruments poured forth their music, 
the volleys of musketry were discharged, while Don 
Quixote clung about Sancho's neck, giving him, on his 
forehead and brawny cheeks, a thousand kisses; the 
duke and duchess, and all who were present, likewise 
testified their satisfaction. The car now moved on, 



196 WIT AND WISDOM 

aud in departing the fair Dulcinea bowed her head to 
the duke and duchess, and made a low curtesy to 
Sancho. 

By this time the cheerful and joyous dawn began to 
appear, the flowerets of the fields expanded their fra- 
grant beauties to the light ; and brooks and streams, in 
gentle murmurs, ran to pay expecting rivers in their 
crystal tribute. The earth rejoiced, the sky was clear, 
and the air serene and calm ; all, combined and sepa- 
rately, giving manifest tokens that the day, which fol- 
lowed fast upon Aurora's heels, would be bright and 
fair. The duke and duchess, having happily executed 
their ingenious project, returned highly gratified to 
their castle, and determined on the continuation of 
fictions which afforded more pleasures than realities. 



SAXCIIO PAXZA 3 LETTER TO HIS WIEE TERESA PANZA. 

If I have been finely lashed, I have been finely 
mounted up ; if I have got a good government, it has 
cost me many good lashes. This, my dear Teresa, thou 
canst not understand at present ; another time thou 
wilt. 

Thou must know, Teresa, that I am determined that 
thou shalt ride in thy coach, which is somewhat to the 
purpose, for all other ways of going are no better than 
creeping upon all fours, like a cat. Thou shalt be a 
governor's wife ; see then whether pnybody will dare 
to tread on thy heels. I here send thee a green hunt- 
ing-suit which my lady duchess gave me ; fit it up so 
that it may serve our daughter for a jacket and petti- 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 197 

coat. They say in this country that my master Don 
Quixote is a sensible madman and a pleasant fool, and 
that I am not a whit behind him. We have been in 
Montesino's cave, and the sage Merlin, the wizard, has 
pitched upon me to disenchant the Lady Dulcinea del 
Toboso, who among you is called Aldonza Lorenzo. 
When I have given myself three thousand and three 
hundred lashes, lacking five, she will be as free from 
enchantment as the mother that bore her. 

Say nothing of this to anybody ; for, bring your 
affairs into council, and one will cry it is white, an- 
other it is black. A few days hence I shall go to the 
government, whither I go with a huge desire to get 
money ; and I am told it is the same with all new r 
governors. I will first see how matters stand, and send 
thee word whether or not thou shalt come to me. 

Dapple is well, and sends thee his hearty service ; 
part with him I will not, though I were made the great 
Turk. The duchess, my mistress, kisses thy hands a 
thousand times over. Eeturn her two thousand : for, 
as my master says, nothing is cheaper than civil words. 
God has not been pleased to throw in my way another 
portmanteau and another hundred crowns, as once be- 
fore ; but take no heed, my dear Teresa, for he that 
has the game in his hand need not mind the loss of a 
trick, — the government will make up for all. One 
thing only troubles me : I am told if I once try it I 
shall eat my very fingers after it ; and if so, it will not 
be much of a bargain, though, indeed, the crippled and 
maimed enjoy a petty canonry in the alms they receive; 
so that, one way or another, thou art sure to be rich 



198 WIT AND WISDOM 

and happy. God send it may be so, as He easily can, 
and keep me for thy sake. 

Thy husband, the governor, 

Sancho Panza. 

From this Castle, the 20th of July, 1614. 



THE KNIGHT REPROVED. 

After a thousand courtly compliments mutually in- 
terchanged, Don Quixote advanced towards the table, 
between the duke and duchess, and. on preparing to 
seat themselves, they offered the upper end to Don 
Quixote, who would have declined it but for the press- 
ing importunities of the duke. The ecclesiastic seated 
himself opposite to the knight, and the duke and duchess 
on each side. 

Sancho was present all the while, in amazement to 
see the honor paid by those great people to his master ; 
and, whilst the numerous entreaties and ceremonies 
were passing between the duke and Don Quixote, be- 
fore he would sit down at the head of the table, he 
said : " With your honor's leave I will tell you a story 
of what happened in our town about seats." 

Don Quixote immediately began to tremble, not 
doubting that he was going to say something absurd. 
Sancho observed him. and. understanding his looks, he 
said: '• Be not afraid, sir, of my breaking loose or 
saying anything that is not pat to the purpose. I have 
not forgotten the advice your worship gave me awhile 
ago about talking much or little, well or ill." 

k - 1 remember nothing. Sancho," answered Don Quix- 
ote ; " say what thou wilt, soas thou sayst it quickly." 



OF DOX QUIXOTE. 199 

" What I would say." quoth Saucho, " is very true, 
for my master, Don Quixote, who is present, will not 
suffer me to lie." 

" Lie as much as thou wilt for me, Sancho," replied 
Don Quixote, " 1 shall not hinder thee ; but take heed 
what thou art going to say." 

(i I have heeded it over and over again, so that it is 
as safe as if I had the game in my hand, as you shall 
presently see." 

" Your graces will do well," said Don Quixote, " to 
order this blockhead to retire, that you may get rid of 
his troublesome folly." 

" By the life of the duke," quoth the duchess, 
11 Sancho shall not stir a jot from me. I have a great 
regard for him, and am assured of his discretion." 

" Many happy years may your holiness live," quoth 
Sancho, "for the good opinion you have of me, little 
as I deserve it. But the tale I would tell is this : — 

" A certain gentleman of our town, very rich and of 
a good family, — for he was descended from the Alamos 
of Medina del Campo, and married Donna Mencia de 
Quinnones, who was daughter to Don Alonzo de Mara- 
non, knight of the order of St. James, the same that 
was drowned in the Herradura, about whom that quar- 
rel happened in our town, in which it was said my 
master Don Quixote had a hand, and Tommy the mad- 
cap, son of Balvastro the blacksmith, was hurt. Pray, 
good master of mine, is not all this true? Speak. I 
beseech you, that their worships may not take me for 
some lying prater." 

" As yet," said the ecclesiastic, " I take you rather 



200 WIT AND WISDOM 

for a prater than for a liar ; but I know not what I 
shall next take you for." 

" Thou hast produced so many witnesses and so many 
proofs/' said Don Quixote, "that I cannot but say thou 
mayst probably be speaking truth ; but, for Heaven's 
sake, shorten thy story, or it will last these two 
days. "~ 

44 He shall shorten nothing," quoth the duchess; 
44 and to please me, he shall tell it his own way, al- 
though he were not to finish these six days ; and, should 
it last so long, they would be to me days of delight." 

44 1 must tell you, then," proceeded Sancho, 44 that 
this same gentleman — whom I know as well as I do 
my right hand from my left, for it is not a bowshot 
from my house to his — invited a husbandman to dine 
with him, — a poor man, but mainly honest." 

t4 On, friend," said the chaplain, 44 for, at the rate 
you proceed, your tale will not reach its end till you 
reach the other world." 

44 1 shall stop," replied Sancho, 44 before I get half- 
way thither, if it please Heaven ! This same farmer 
coming to the house of the gentleman his inviter — 
God rest his soul, for he is dead and gone ; and, more- 
over, died like an angel, as it is said, —for I was not 
by myself, being at that time gone a reaping to Tcm- 
bleque." 

44 Prithee, son," said the ecclesiastic, u come back 
quickly from Tembleque, and stay not to bury the 
gentleman, unless you are determined upon more buri- 
als. Pray make an end of your tale " 

44 The business, then," quoth Sancho, 44 was this, 






OF DON QUIXOTE. 201 

that, they being ready to sit down to table, — methinks 
I see them plainer than ever." 

The duke and duchess were highly diverted at the 
impatience of the good ecclesiastic, and at the length and 
pauses of Sancho's tale ; but Don Quixote was almost ■ 
suffocated with rage and vexation. 

'• I say. then,'*' quoth Sancho, "that, as they were 
both standing before the dinner-table, just ready to sit 
down, the farmer insisted that the gentleman should 
take the upper end of the table, and the gentleman as 
positively pressed the farmer to take it, saying he ought 
to be master in his own house. But the countryman, 
piquing himself upon his good breeding, still refused 
to comply, till the gentleman, losing all patience, laid 
both his hands upon the farmer's shoulders, and made 
him sit down by main force, saying, ' Sit thee down, 
clod-pole ! for in whatever place I am seated, that is 
the upper end to thee.' That is my tale, and truly I 
think it comes in here pretty much to the purpose." 



All things are not alike, nor are men always in a 
humor for all things. 

Leave fear to the cowardly. 



A stout heart quails misfortune. 



Letters written in blood cannot be disputed. 



If you seek advice about your own concerns, one will 
say it is white and another will swear it is black. 



202 WIT AXD WISDOM 

Nothing is so reasonable and cheap as good manners. 



He is safe who has good cards to play. 



Avarice bursts the bag. and the covetous governor 
doeth un governed justice. 



The law's measure 

Is the king's pleasure. 



The game is as often lost by a card too many as one 
too few : but a word to the wise is sufficient. 



Come, death, with gently-steali 

And take me un; - 1 away. 

Not let me see thy wished-for face, 

I :--~ . " :_-.-: a . a.._ hie should stay. 

The tyrant fair whose beauty sent 
The baa' bing mischief to my 1 

The more my anguish t ent, 

Forbids me to reveal the smart. 



When a thing is once begun, it is almost half fin- 
ished. 



When the heifer you receive, 
Have a halter in vour sleeve. 



Delay breed- dan: -a 



Who sits in the saddle must get up first. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 203 

There is nothing so sweet as to command and be 
obeyed. 

It is a pleasant thing to govern, even though it be 
but a flock of sheep. 

INSTRUCTIONS WHICH DON QUIXOTE GAVE TO SAXCHO 
PAXZA BEFORE HE WENT TO HIS GOVERNMENT ; 
WITH OTHER WELL CONSIDERED MATTERS. 

The duke and duchess being so well pleased with 
the afflicted duenna, were encouraged to proceed with 
other projects, seeing that there was nothing too extrav- 
agant for the credulity of the knight and squire. The 
necessary orders were accordingly issued to their ser- 
vants and vassals with regard to their behavior towards 
Sancho in his government of the promised island. 
The day after the flight of Clavileno, the duke bade 
Sancho prepare, and get himself in readiness to assume 
his office, for his islanders were already wishing for 
him as for rain in May. Sancho made a low bow, and 
said: '-Ever since my journey to heaven, when I 
looked down and saw the earth so very small, my de- 
sire to be a governor has partly cooled : for what 
mighty matter is it to command on a spot no bigger 
than a grain of mustard-seed ; where is the majesty 
and pomp of governing half a dozen creatures no big- 
ger than hazel-nuts ? If your lordship will be pleased 
to offer me some small portion of heaven, though it be 
but half a league, I would jump at it sooner than for 
the largest island in the wo rid.' ' 

" Look you, friend Sancho," answered the duke, " I 



204 WIT AND WISDOM 

can give away no part of heaven, not even a nail's 
breadth ; for Gcd has reserved to Himself the disposal of 
such favors ; but what it is in my power to give. I give 
you with all my heart ; and. the island I now present 
to you is ready made, round and sound, well-propor- 
tioned, and above measure fruitful, and where, by 
good management, you may yourself, with the riches 
of the earth, purchase an inheritance in heaven." 

44 Well, then,'' answered Sancho, "let this island be 
forthcoming, and it shall go hard with me but I will 
be such a governor that, in spite of rogues, heaven will 
take me in. Nor is it out of covetousness that I for- 
sake my humble cottage and aspire to greater things, 
but the desire I have to taste what it is to be a gov- 
ernor. ' ' 

44 If once you taste it. Sancho/' quoth the duke, 
"you will lick your fingers after it : so sweet it is to 
command and be obeyed. And certain I am, when 
your master becomes an emperor, of which there is no 
doubt, as matters proceed so well, it would be impos- 
sible to wrest his power from him. and his only regret 
will be that he had it not sooner." 

" Faith, sir, you are in the right." quoth Sancho, " it 
is pleasant to govern, though it be but a flock of sheep. " 

'•Let me be buried with you, Sancho, ,, replied the 
duke, "if you know not something of every thing, 
and I doubt not you will prove a pearl of a governor. 
But enough of this for the present : to-morrow you 
surely depart for your island, and this evening you 
shall be fitted with suitable apparel and with all things 
necessary for your appointment." 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 205 

" Clothe me as you will," said Sancho, U I shall 
still be Sancho Panza." 

"That is true," said the duke; "but the garb 
should always be suitable to the office and rank of the 
wearer : for a lawyer to be habited like a soldier, or a 
soldier like a priest, would be preposterous ; and you, 
Sancho, must be clad partly like a scholar and partly 
like a soldier ; as, in the office you will hold, arms and 
learning are united." 

" As for learning," replied Sancho, " I have not 
much of that, for I hardly know my ABC; but to be 
a good governor, it will be enough that I am able to 
make my Christ-cross ; and as to arms, I shall handle 
such as are given me till I fall, and so God help me." 

" With so good an intention," quoth the duke, 
" Sancho cannot do wrong." 

Here they were joined by Don Quixote, who under- 
standing the subject of their conversation, and the short 
space allotted to Sancho to prepare for his departure, 
took the squire by the hand, with the duke's permis- 
sion, and led him to his apartment, in order to instruct 
him how to behave in his office. Having entered the 
chamber he locked the door, and obliging Sancho to 
sit down by him, spoke to this effect, in a grave aud 
solemn tone : — 

"I return infinite thanks to Heaven, friend Sancho, 
for having ordained that, before I myself have met 
with the least success, good fortune hath gone forth to 
bid thee welcome. I, who had balanced the remuner- 
ation of thy service in my own .prosperity, find my- 
self in the very rudiments of promotion ; while thou, 



b :•'-■ ^:r Aira wisdom 

before thy time, and contrary to all the laws of reas- 
onable progression, findest thy desire accomplished: 
other people bribe, solicit, importune, attend levees, 
entreat, and perse v ere, without obtaining their suit; 
another comes, who, without knowing why or 
wherefore, finds himself in possession of that office to 
which so many people laid claim: and here the old 
saying is aptly introduced, c A pound of good lack is 
worth a ton of merit.' Thou, who, in comparison to 
me, art doubter ss an ignorant dunce, without rising 
early :>r sirring up bv:e. ::\ i:;:Ieed rxerrin.. :b~ Leas: 
industry: without pretension more or less th an 

tha: <:f bei:;g: brearb-rd ;;; : .: by ba^b"--: : : a::~r seest 
rhysei: :rearri rzverLir :: an isiaard us i: ir vais a 
matter of moonshine. 

"All this I observe. Sar.aae. rbar rb:u raayst r. : r 
attribute thy success to thy own deserts: but give 
thank- to heaven for having disposed matters so bene- 
ficially in thy behalf, and then make thy acknowledg- 
ments tc that grandeur which centres in the profession 
of knight-errantry. Thy be art being thus predisposed 
:: elieve what I have sai 1, be attentive, O my son, to 
me who am thy Cato. thy counsellor, thy north-pole 
,"..:. I e . r : n duct thee into a secure harbor from 
the tempestuous sea into which thou art going to be 
engulfed; for great posts and offices of state are no 
other than rofound gulf of confusion. 

•• In rbe first place. O my son, you are to fear God : 
the rear :: God is the beginning of wisdom; and if 
you are wise . cannot err. 

Secondly, you must always remember who you are, 



OF BON QUIXOTE. 207 

and endeavor to know yourself, — a study of all others 
the most difficult. This self-knowledge will hinder you 
from blowing yourself up like the frog in order to rival 
the size of the ox : if, therefore, you succeed in this 
learning, the consideration of thy having been a swine- 
herd will, like the peacock's ugly feet, be a check upon 
thy folly and. pride." 

t; I own I once took care of hogs when I was a boy," 
said Sancho ; " but, after I grew up, I quitted that em- 
ployment and took care of geese ; but I apprehend that 
matter is not of great consequence, for all governors 
are not descended from the kingly race." 

" ]N T o, sure," answered the knight; "and, for that 
reason, those who are not of noble extraction ought 
to sweeten the gravity of their function with mildness 
and affability ; which, being prudently conducted, will 
screen them from those malicious murmurs that no 
station can escape. 

" Conceal not the meanness of thy family, nor think 
it disgraceful to be descended from peasants ; for, when 
it is seen that thou art not thyself ashamed, none will 
endeavor to make thee so ; and deem it more meritori- 
ous to be a virtuous humble man than a lofty sinner. 
Infinite is the number of those who, born of low extrac- 
tion, have risen to the highest dignities both in church 
and state ; and of this truth I could tire thee with 
examples. 

" If thou takest virtue for the rule of life, and vainest 
thyself upon acting in all things conformably thereto, 
thou wilt have no cause to envy lords and princes ; for 
blood is inherited, but virtue is a common property and 



208 WIT AND WISDOM 

may "be acquired by all. It has, moreover, an intrinsic 
worth which blood has not. This being so, if, perad- 
venture, any one of thy kindred visit thee in thy gov- 
ernment, do not slight nor affront him ; but receive, 
cherish, and make much of him, for in so doing thou 
wilt please God, who allows none of His creatures to 
be despised ; and thou wilt also manifest therein a 
well-disposed nature. 

"If thou takest thy wife with thee (and it is not 
well for those who are appointed to governments to be 
long separated from their families), teach, instruct, and 
polish her from her natural rudeness ; for it often hap- 
pens that all the consideration a wise governor can 
acquire is lost by an ill-bred and foolish woman. 

" If thou shouldst become a widower (an event which 
is possible), and thy station entitles thee to a better 
match, seek not one to serve thee for a hook and 
angling- rod, or a f liar's hood to receive alms in ; * for, 
believe me, whatever the judge's wife receives, the 
husband, must account for at the general judgment, 
and shall be made to pay fourfold for all that of which 
he has rendered no account during his life. 

" Be not under the dominion of thine own will : it 
is the vice of the ignorant, who vainly presume on their 
own understanding. 

"Let the tears of the poor find more compassion, 
but not more justice, from thee than the applications 
of the wealthy. 

1 The phrase, No quiero de tu crtpiUa. alludes to the practice of 
friars, who, when charity is offered, hold out their hoods to receive 
it, while they pronounce a refusal with their tongues. 



OF DOX QUIXOTE. 209 

" Be equally solicitous to sift out the truth amidst 
the presents and promises of the rich and the sighs and 
entreaties of the poor. 

" Whenever equity may justly temper the rigor of 
the law, let not the whole force of it bear upon the 
delinquent ; for it is better that a judge should lean 
on the side of compassion than severity. 

" If, perchance, the scales of justice be not correctly 
balanced, let the error be imputable to pity, not to 
gold. 

11 If, perchance, the cause of thine enemy come be- 
fore thee, forget thy injuries, and think only on the 
merits of the case. 

" Let not private affection blind thee in another 
man's cause ; for the errors thou shalt thereby commit 
ars often without remedy, and at the expeuse both of 
thy reputation and fortune. 

"When a beautiful woman comes before thee to 
demand justice, consider maturely the nature of her 
claim, without regarding either her tears or her sighs, 
unless thou wouldst expose thy judgment to the danger 
of being lost in the one, and thy integrity in the other. 

" Revile not with words him whom thou hast to cor- 
rect with deeds ; the punishment which the unhappy 
wretch is doomed to suffer is sufficient, without the 
addition of abusive language. 

" When the criminal stands before thee, recollect- the 
frail and depraved nature of man, and as much as thou 
canst, without injustice to the suffering party, show T 
pity and clemency ; for, though the attributes of God 
are all equally adorable, yet His mercy is more shining 

14 



210 WIT AXD WISDOM 

and attractive in our eyes, and strikes with greater 
lustre, than His justice. 

" If you observe, and conduct yourself by these rules 
and precepts. Sancho. your days will be long upon the 
face of the earth ; your fame will be eternal, your re- 
ward complete, and your felicity unutterable : your 
chifdren will be married according to your wish : they 
and their descendants wiD enjoy titles : you shall live 
in peace and friendship with all mankind : when your 
course of life is run. death will overtake you in a happy 
and mature old age. and your eyes will be shut by the 
tender and delicate hands of your posterity, in the third 
or fourth generation. 

4i The remarks I have hitherto made are documents 
touching the decoration of your soul : and now you will 
listen to the directions I have to give concerning thy 
person aud deportment." 



OF THE SECOXD SERIFS OF INSTRUCTIONS DON 
QUIXOTE GAVE TO SANCHO PAXZA. 

Who that has duly considered Don Quixote's instruc- 
tions to his squire would not have taken him for a 
person of singular intelligence and discretion ? But, 
in truth, as it has often been said in the progress of 
this great' history, he raved only on the subject of 
chivalry ; on all others he manifested a sound and 
discriminating understanding ; wherefore his judgment 
and his actions appeared continually at variance. But, 
in these second instructions given to Sancho, which 
showed much ingenuity, his wisdom and frenzy are 
both singularly conspicuous. 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 211 

During the who'e of this private conference, Sancho 
listened to his master with great attention, and endeav- 
ored so to register his counsel in his mind that he might 
thereby be enabled to bear the burden of government 
and acquit himself honorably. Don Quixote now pro- 
ceeded : — 

11 As to the regulation of thine own person and'do- 
mestic concerns," said he, " in the first place, Sancho, 
I enjoin thee to be cleanly in all things. Keep the 
nails of thy fingers constantly and neatly pared, nor 
suffer them to grow as some do, who ignorantly imagine 
that long nails beautify the hand, and account the 
excess of that excrement simply a finger-nail, whereas 
it is rather the talon of the lizard-hunting kestrel, — a 
foul and unsightly object. A slovenly dress betokens 
a careless mind ; or, as in the case of Julius Caesar, it 
may be attributed to cunning. 

''Examine prudently the income of thy office, and 
if it will afford thee to give liveries to thy servants, 
give them such as are decent and lasting, rather than 
gaudy and modish ; and what thou shalt thus save in 
thy servants bestow on the poor ; so shalt thou, have 
attendants both in heaven and earth — a provision 
which our vain-glorious great never think of. 

"Eat neither garlic nor onions, lest the smell betray 
thy rusticity. Walk with gravity, and speak deliber- 
ately, but not so as to seem to be listening to thyself ; 
for affectation is odious. 

"Eat little at dinner and less at supper; for the 
health of the whole body is tempered in the laboratory 
of the stomach. 



212 WIT AND WISDOM 

"Drink with moderation; for inebriety never keeps 
a secret nor performs a promise. 

" In the next place, Sancho, do not intermix in thy 
discourse such a multitude of proverbs as thou wert 
wont to do ; for though proverbs are concise and pithy 
sentences, thou dost so often drag them in by the head 
and shoulders that they look more like the ravings of 
distraction than well-chosen apothegms." 

"That defect God himself must remedy," said San- 
cho ; " for I have more proverbs by heart than would 
be sufficient to fill a large book ; and, when I speak, 
they crowd together in such a manner as to quarrel for 
utterance ; so that my tongue discharges them just as 
they happen to be in the way, whether they are or are 
not to the purpose : but I will take care henceforward 
to throw out those that may be suitable to the gravity of 
my office : for, ' Where there 's plenty of meat, the sup- 
per will soon be complete ; ' ' He that shuffles does not 
cut ; ' 'A good hand makes a short game ; ' and, ' It 
requires a good brain to know when to give and 
retain. ' " 

" Courage, Sancho," cried Don Quixote ; " squeeze, 
tack, and string your proverbs together ; here are none 
to oppose you. My mother whips me, and I whip the 
top. Here am I exhorting thee to suppress thy prov- 
erbs, and in an instant thou hast spewed forth a whole 
litany of them, which are as foreign from the subject 
as an old ballad. Remember, Sancho, I do not say 
that a proverb properly applied is amiss ; but, to throw 
in, and string together old saws helter-skelter, renders 
conversation altogether mean and despicable. 



OF DOX QUIXOTE. 213 

" When you appear on horseback do not lean back- 
ward over the saddle, nor stretch out your 'legs stiffly 
from the horse's belly, nor let them -hang dangling in 
a slovenly manner, as if you were upon the back of 
Dapple ; for some ride like jockeys, and some like gen- 
tlemen. 

" Be very moderate in sleeping ; for he who does not 
rise with the sun cannot enjoy the day ; and observe, 
O Sancho, industry is the mother of prosperity ; and 
laziness, her opposite, never saw the accomplishment 
of a good wish. 

" This is all the advice, friend Sancho, that occurs 
to me at present ; hereafter, as occasions offer, my in- 
structions will be ready, provided thou art mindful to 
inform me of the state of thy affairs." 

" Sir," answered Sancho, "I see very well that all 
your worship has told me is wholesome and profitable ; 
but w 7 hat shall I be the better for it if I cannot keep it 
in my head ? It is true, I shall not easily forget what 
you have said about paring my nails, and marrying 
again if the opportunity offers; but for your other 
quirks and quillets, I protest they have already gone out 
of my head as clean as last year's clouds ; and there- 
fore, let me have them in writing ; for though I cannot 
read them myself, I will give them to my confessor, that 
he may repeat and drive them into me in time of need." 

"Heaven defend me!" said Don Quixote, "how 
scurvy doth it look in a governor to be unable to read 
or write ! Indeed, Sancho, I must needs tell thee that 
when a man has not been taught to read, or is left- 
handed, it argues that his parentage was very low, or 



214 WIT AXD WISD M 

that, in early life, he was so indocile and perverse that 
his teachers could beat nothing good into him. Truly 
this is a great defect in thee, and therefore I would 
have thee learn to write, even if it were only thy 
name" 

••That I can do already." quoth Sancho ; "for 
when I was stew rd : the brotherhood- in our village. 
I learned to make certain marks like those upon w : _- 
packs, which they told me. stood for my name. Bat, 
at the worst, I ;: .: feign a lameness in my right hand, 
and get another to sign for me : there is a remedy for 
svery thing but death; and. having the staff in my 
hand. lean do what I please Besides, as your wor- 
ship knows, he whose father is mayor 1 — and 1, being 
governor, am. I trow, something more than mayor. 

••Ay. ay, let them come that list, and play it bo- 
peep — ay. fleer and backbite me : but they may 
: : i wool and go back shorn : • His home is savory 
whom God loves : ' — besides, ' The rich man's blun- 
ders pass current for wise maxims : ' so that I. being a 
nor, and the: 1 bountiful to boot 

— as I intend to be — .: t : dy will see any blemish in 
me. Xo. no. let ; i daub himself with he 

and he will never want ni~- _^uch as you have, 

just so much you are worth.* said my grandam ; re- 
venue yourself upon the rich who can.** 

"HeaveD senfound tfa med Don Quixote ; 

rty thousand devils take thee and thy proverbs! 

This hour, or more, thou hast been stringing thy 

1 The entire proverb i- : "Hr 
Lt his trial.*' 



OF DOX QUIXOTE. 215 

musty wares, poisoning aud torturing me without 
mercy. Take my word for it. these proverbs will one 
day bring thee to the gallows ; — they will surely pro- 
voke thy people to rebellion ! Where dost thou find 
them? How shouldst thou apply them, idiot? for I 
toil and sweat as if I were delving the ground to utter 
but one. and apply it properly.'' 

"Before Heaven, master of mine." replied Sancho, 
'• your worship complains of very trifles. Why. in the 
devil's name, are you angry that I make use of my own 
goods ? for other stock I have none, nor any stock but 
proverbs upon proverbs ; and just now I have four 
ready to pop out, all pat and fitting as pears in a pan- 
nier — but I am dumb ; Silence is my name." 1 

11 Then art thou vilely miscalled," quoth Don Quix- 
ote, "being an eternal babbler. Nevertheless, I 
would fain know these four proverbs that come so pat 
to the purpose ; for I have been rummaging my own 
memory, which is no bad one, but for the soul of me, I 
can find none." 

"Can there be better," quoth Sancho, "than — 
' Xever venture your fingers between two eye-teeth;' 
and with 'Get out of my house — what would you 
have with my wile?' there is no arguing; and, 
' Whether the pitcher hits the stone, or the stone hits 
the pitcher, it goes ill with the pitcher.' All these, 
your worship must see, fit to a hair. Let no one 
meddle with the governor or his deputy, or he will 
come off the worst, like him who claps his finger be- 

1 The proverb is ; " To keep silence well is called Santo." 



216 WIT AXD WISDOM 

tween two eye-teeth, and though they were not eye- 
teeth, 'tis enough if they be but teeth. To what a gov- 
ernor says there is no replying, any more than to ' Get 
out of my house — what business have you with my 
wife ? ' Then as to the stone and the pitcher — a blind 
man may see that. So he who points to the mote in 
another man's eye, should first look to the beam in his 
own, that it may not be said of him, the dead woman 
was afraid of her that was flayed. Besides, your wor- 
ship knows well that the fool knows more in his own 
house than the wise in that of another." 

u Xot so, Sancho," answered Don Quixote, u the 
fool knows nothing, either in his own or any other 
house ; for knowledge is not to be erected upon so bad 
a foundation as foil}'. But here let it rest. Sancho, for. 
if thou governest ill, though the fault will be thine, the 
shame will be mine. However, I am comforted in 
having given thee the best counsel in my power ; and 
therein having done my duty, I am acquitted both of 
my obligation and promise ; so God speed thee. San- 
cho, and govern thee in thy government, and deliver 
me from the fears I entertain that thou wilt turn the 
who!e island topsy-turvy! — which, indeed, I might 
prevent by Jetting the duke know what thou art. and 
telling him that all that paunch-gut and little carcass 
of thine is nothing but a sack full of proverbs and 
impertinence." 

" Signor," replied Sancho, "if your worship really 
thinks I am not qualified for that government, I re- 
nounce it from henceforward forever, amen. I have 
a greater regard for a nail's breadth of my soul than 



. OF DON QUIXOTE. 217 

my whole body ; and I can subsist, as bare Sancho, 
upon a crust of bread and an onion, as well as governor 
on capons and partridges ; for, while we sleep, great 
and small, rich and poor, are equal all. If your wor- 
ship will consider, your worship will find that you 
yourself put this scheme of government into my head. 
As for my own part, I know no more of the matter 
than a bustard ; and, if you think the governorship will 
be the means of my going to the devil, I would much 
rather go as simple Sancho to Heaven than as a gov- 
ernor to hell- lire." 

u Before Gocl ! " cried the knight, " from these last 
reflections thou, hast uttered, I pronounce thee worthy 
to govern a thousand islands. Thou hast an excellent 
natural disposition, without which all science is naught. 
Recommend thyself to God, and endeavor to avoid 
errors in the first intention. I mean, let thy intention 
and unshaken purpose be to deal righteously in all thy 
transactions, for Heaven always favors the upright de- 
sign. And now let us go in to dinner, for 1 believe 
their graces wait for us." 



Without discretion there can be no wit. 



O poverty, poverty ! I know not what should induce 
the great Cordovan poet to call thee a holy, unrequited 
gift. I, though a Moor, am very sensible, from my 
correspondence with Christians, that holiness consists 
in charity, humility, faith, poverty, and obedience ; 
yet, nevertheless, I will affirm that he must be holy 
indeed, who can sit down content with poverty, unless 



218 WIT AND WISDOM 

we mean that kind of poverty to which one of the 
greatest saints alludes, when he says, "Possess of all 
things as not possessing them;" and this is called 
spiritual poverty. But thou second poverty, which is 
the cause I spoke of, why wouldst thou assault gentle- 
men of birth rather than any other class of people? 
Why dost thou compel them to cobble their shoes, and 
wear upon their coats one button of silk, another of 
hair, and a third of glass ? Why must their ruffs be 
generally yellow and ill-starched ? (By the by, from 
this circumstance we learn the antiquity of ruffs and 
starch. But thus he proceeds:) O wretched man of 
noble pedigree ! who is obliged to administer cordials 
to his honor, in the midst of hunger and solitude, by 
playing the hypocrite with a toothpick, which he affects 
to use in the street, though he has eat nothing to require 
that act of cleanliness. Wretched he, I say, whose honor 
is ever apt to be startled, and thinks that everybody at 
a league's distance observes the patch upon his shoe, 
his greasy hat, and his threadbare cloak, and even the 
hunger that consumes him. 

Better a blush on the face than a stain in the heart. 

Look not in last year's nests for this year's birds. 



A SERENADE . 

And he forthwith imagined that some damsel be- 
longing to the duchess had become enamored of him. 
Though somewhat fearful of the beautiful foe, he re- 
solved to fortify his heart, and on no account to yield ; 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 219 

so, commending himself with 'fervent devotion to his 
mistress, Dulcinea del Toboso, be determined to listen to 
the music ; and to let the damsel know he was there he 
gave a feigned sneeze, at which they were not a little 
pleased, as they desired above all things that he should 
hear them. The harp being now tuned, Altisidora 
began the following song 1 : — 

"Wake, sir knight, now love ? s invading, 
Sleep in Holland sheets no more ; 

"When a nymph is serenading, 
'T is an arrant shame to snore. 

Hear a damsel tall and tender, 

Moaning in most rueful guise, 
With heart almost burned to cinder 

By the sunbeams of thine eyes. 

To free damsels from disaster 

Is, they say, your daily care : 
Can you then deny a plaster 

To a wounded virgin here ? 

Tell me. doughty youth, who cursed thee 

With such humors and ill-luck? 
"Was J t some sullen bear dry-nursed thee, 

Or she-dragon gave thee suck? 

Dulcinea, that virago, 

"Well may brag of such a Cid, 

1 Jarvis's translation. 



220 WIT AND WISDOM 

Now her fame is up, and may go 
From Toledo to Madrid. 

Would sire but her prize surrender, 
(Judge how on thy face I dote !) 

In exchange I 'd gladly send her 
My best gown and petticoat. 

Happy I, would fortune doom me 
But to have me near thy bed, 

Stroke thee, pat thee, currycomb thee, 
And hunt o'er thy knightly head. 

But I ask too much, sincerely, 
And I doubt I ne'er must do 't, 

I 'd but kiss your toe, and fairly 
Get the length thus of your foot. 

How I 'd rig thee, and what riches 
Should be heaped upon thy bones ! 

Caps and socks, and cloaks and breeches, 
Matchless pearls and precious stones. 

Do not from above, like Xero, 
See me burn and slight my woe, 

But to quench my fires, my hero, 
Cast a pitying eye below. 

I J m a virgin -pullet, truly ; 

One more tender ne'er was seen. 
A mere chicken fledged but newly ; — 

Hang me if I 'm yet fifteen. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 221 

Wind and limb, all 's tight about me, 

My hair dangles to my feet ; 
I am straight, too : — if you doubt me, 

Trust your eyes, come down and see 't. 

I 've a bob nose has no fellow. 

And a sparrow's mouth as rare ; 
Teeth, like bright topazes, yellow ; 

Yet I 'm deemed a beauty here. 

You know what a rare musician 

(If you hearken) courts your choice ; 

I dare say my disposition 
Is as taking as my voice. 

Here ended the song of the amorous Altisidora, and 
began the alarm of the courted Don Quixote, who, 
fetching a deep sigh, said within himself: " Why am 
I so unhappy a knight-errant that no damsel can see 
but she must presently fall in love w T ith me ? Why is 
the peerless Dulcinea so unlucky that she must not be 
suffered singly to enjoy this my incomparable con- 
stancy? Queens, what would ye have with her? 
Empresses, why do ye persecute her ? Damsels from 
fourteen to fifteen, why do ye plague her? Leave, 
leave the poor creature ; let her triumph and glory in 
the lot which love bestowed upon her in the conquest 
of my heart and the surrender of my soul. Take no- 
tice, enamored multitude, that to Dulcinea alone I am 
paste and sugar, and to all others flint. To her I am 
honey, and to the rest of ye^ aloes. To me, Dulcinea 



222 WIT AND WISDOM 

alone is beautiful, discreet, lively, modest, and well- 
born ; all the rest of her sex foul, foolish, fickle, and 
base-born. To be hers, and hers alone, nature sent me 
into the world. Let Altisidora weep or sing, let the 
lady despair on whose account I was buffeted in the 
castle of the enchanted Moor ; boiled or roasted, Dulci- 
nea's I must be, clean, well-bred, and chaste, in spite 
of all the necromantic powers on earth." 



HOW THE GREAT SANCHO PANZA TOOK POSSESSION OF 
HIS ISLAND, AND OF THE MANNER OF HIS BEGIN- 
NING TO GOVERN IT. THE GOVERNOR'S WISDOM. 

O thou ceaseless discoverer of the antipodes, torch of 
the world, eye of Heaven, and sweet cause of earthen 
wine coolers ; here Thymbrius, there Phoebus ; here 
archer, there physician, father of poesy, inventor of 
music : thou who always risest, and, though thou seem- 
est to do so, never settest, — - to thee I speak, O sun ! 
thee I invoke to favor and enlighten the obscurity of 
the great Sancho Panza ; without thee I find myself 
indolent, dispirited, and confused ! 

Sancho, then, with all his attendants, arrived at a 
town containing about a thousand inhabitants, which 
was one of the largest and best the duke had. They 
gave him to understand that it was called the island of 
Barataria, either because Barataria was really the name 
of the place, or because he obtained the government of 
it at so cheap a rate. On his arrival near the gates 
of the town, which was walled about, the municipal 
officers came out to receive him. • The bells rung, and, 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 223 

with all the demonstrations of a general joy and a great 
deal of pomp, the people conducted him to the great 
church to give thanks to God. Presently after, with 
certain ridiculous ceremonies, they presented him the 
;he town and constituted him perpetual gov- 
ernor of the island of Barataria. The garb, the beard, 
thickness and shortness of the new governor, sur- 
prised all who were not in the secret, and. indeed, those 
who were, who were not a few. In fine, as soon as they 
had brought him out of the church, they carried him to 
the tribunal of justice and placed him in the chair. 
The duke's steward then said to him. il It is an ancient 
custom here, my lord governor, that he who comes to 
take possession of this famous island is obliged to an- 
swer a question put to him, which is to be somewhat 
intricate and difficult. By his answer the people are 
enabled to feel the pulse of their new governor's under- 
standing, and. accordingly, are either glad or sorry for 
his comiivV' 

TV nile the steward was savins: this. Sancho was 
staring at some capital letters written on the wall 
opposite to his chair, and. beino- unable to read, he 
1 what that writing was on the wall. He was an- 
swered. --Sir.it is there written on what day your 
r took possession of this island. The inscription 
runs thus : • This day. such a day of the month and 
year. Signor Don Sancho Panza took possession of this 
nd. Long may he enjoy it.' " 

••Pray who is it they call Don Sancho Panza?*' 
demanded Sancho. 

••Your lordship," answered the steward! '-for no 



22± WIT AND WISDOM 

other Panza. besides him now in the chair, ever came 
into this island.'"' 

" Take notice, then, brother.*- returned Saneho. "that 
the Don does not belong to me, nor ever did to any of 
my family. I am called plain Saneho Panza : my 
father was a Saneho, and my grandfather was a San- • 
cho. and they were all Panzas. without any addition 
of Dons, or any other title whatever. I fancy there are 
more Dons than stones in this island. But enough : G : 1 
knows my meaning: and perhaps, if my government 
lasts four days. I may weed out these Dons that over- 
run the country, and. by their numbers, are as trouble- 
some'' as mosquitoes and cousins. On with 
question. Master Steward, and I will answei the best I 
can. let the people be sorry or rejoice." 

About this time two men came into the court, the one 
clad like a country fellow, and the other like a tailor, 
with a pair of shears in his hand : and .the tailor said : 
■• My lord governor. I and this countryman come be- 
fore your worship by reason this honest man came 
yesterday to my shop (saving your presence. I am a 
tailor, and have passed my examination. G : 
thanked), and putting a piece of cloth into my hands, 
asked me, s Sir. is there enough of this to make me a 
cap? 1 I. measuring the piece, answered Yes. Now 
he bade me view it again, and see if there was not 
enough for two. I guessed his drift, and told him 
there was. Persisting in his knavish intentions, my 
customer "went on increasing the number of cap-. 
I still saying yes. till we came to five caps. A little 
time asro he came to claim them. I offered them to 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 225 

him. but he refuses to pay me for the making, and in- 
sists I shall either return him his cloth, or pay him for 
it." 

•• Is all this so. brother? " demanded Sancho. 

"Yes," answered the man: "but pray, my lord, 
make him produce the five caps he has made me.'' 

"With all my heart."' answered the tailor; and 
pulling his hand from under his cloak, he showed the 
five cans on the ends of his fingers and thumb, saying : 
" Here are the five caps this honest man would have 
me make, and on my soul and conscience, not a shred 
of the cloth is left, and I submit the work to be viewed 
by any inspectors of the trade." 

All present laughed at the number of the caps and the 
novelty of the suit. Sancho reflected a moment, and 
then said : ;i I am of opinion there needs no great 
delay in this suit, and it may be decided very equi- 
tably off-hand. Therefore I pronounce, that the tailor 
lose the making, and the countryman the stuff, and 
that the caps be confiscated to the use of the poor : and 
there is an end of that.*' 

If the sentence Sancho afterwards passed on the 
purse of the herdsman caused the admiration of ail the 
bystanders, this excited their laughter. However, 
what the governor commanded was executed, and two 
old men next presented themselves before him. One 
of them carried a cane in his hand for a staff ; the 
other, who had no staff, said to Sancho : " My lord, 
some time ago I lent this man ten crowns of gold to 
oblige and serve him. upon condition that he should 
return them on demand. I let some time pass with- 

15 



226 WIT AND WISDOM 

out asking for them, being loth to put him to a greater 
strait to pay me than he was in when I lent them. 
But at length, thinking it full time to be repaid. I 
asked him for my money more than once, but to no 
purpose : he not only refuses payment, but denies the 
debt, and says I never lent him any such sum. or. if I 
did that he had already paid me. I have no witnesses 
to the loan, nor has he of the payment which he pre- 
tends to have made, but which I deny ; yet if he will 
swear before your worship that he has returned the 
money. I from this minute acquit him before God and 
the world.'"' 

"What say you to this, old gentleman ?" quoth 
Sancho. 

" I confess, my lord," replied the old fellow, " that 
he did lend me the money, and if your worship pleases 
to hold down your wand of justice, since he leaves it to 
my oath. I will swear I have really and truly returned 
it to him." 

The governor accordingly held down his wand, and 
the old fellow, seeming encumbered with his staff, gave 
it to his creditor to hold while he was swearing ; and 
then taking hold of the cross of the wand, he said it was 
true indeed the other had lent him ten crowns, but 
that he had restored them to him into his own hand ; 
but having, he supposed, forgotten it, he was contin- 
ually dunning him for them. Upon which his lordship 
the governor demanded of the creditor what he had to 
say in reply to the solemn declaration he had heard. 
He said that he submitted, and could not doubt but 
that his debtor had sworn the truth ; for he believed 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 227 

him to be an honest man and a good Christian : and 
that, as the fault must have been in his own memory, he 
would thenceforward ask him no more for his money. 
The debtor now took his staff again, and bowing to 
the governor, went out of court. 

Sancho having observed the defendant take his staff 
and walk away, and noticing also the resignation of 
the plaintiff, he began to meditate, and laying the 
fore-finger of his right hand upon his forehead, he con- 
tinued a short time apparently full of thought ; and 
then raising his head, he ordered the old man with the 
staff to be called back : and when he had returned, 
'•Honest friend," said the governor, '-give me that 
staff, for I have occasion for it.'' 

•• With all my heart,"' answered the old fellow : and 
delivered it into his hand. Sancho took it. and giv- 
ing it to the other old man, said: •> Go about your 
business, in God's name, for you are paid." "I, my 
lord." answered the old man ; tk what ! is this cane 
worth ten golden crowns ? *' 

•-Yes," quoth the governor, -or I am the greatest 
dunce in the world ! and now it shall appear whether 
I have a head to govern a whole kingdom." Straight 
he commanded the cane to be broken before them all. 
Which being done there were found in the hollow of it 
ten crowns in gold. 

All were struck with admiration, and took their new 
governor for a second Solomon. They asked him, 
whence he had collected that the ten crowns were in 
the cane. He answered, that upon seeing the old man 
give it his adversary, while lie was taking the oath, 



223 WIT AND WISDOM 

and swearing that he had really and truly restored 
them into his own hands, and. when he had done, ask 
for it again, it came into his imagination, the m 
in dispute must be in the hollow of the cane. Whence 
it may be gathered, that. God Almighty often directs 
the judgment of those who govern, though otherwise 
mere blockheads : besides, he had heard the priest of 
his parish tell a like ease : and. were it not that he was 
so unlucky as to forget ail he had a mind to remember, 
his memory was so good, there would not have 
a better in the whole island. 

At length, both the okl men marched oft. the one 
ashamed, and the other satisfied : the bystanders were 
surprised, and the secretary, who minuted down the 
words, actions, and behavior of Sancho Panza, could not 
determine with himself, whether he should set him down 
for a wise man or a fool. All the court were in admira- 
tion at the acuteness and wisdom of their new govei 
all of whose sentences and decrees, being noted dow 
the appoint-d historiographer, were immediately trans- 
mitted to the duke, who waited for these accounts with 
the utmost impatience. 

We see that governors, though otherwise fools, are 
sometimes directed in their decisions bv the hand of 
God. 

Time is ever moving ; nothing ever can impede 
course. 



An understanding in the beginning is often an effec- 
tual cure for those who are indiscreetlv in love. 



OF DOX QUIXOTE. 229 

At eleven o'clock Don Quixote retired to his apart- 
ment, and finding a lute there, he tuned it, opened the 
window, and, perceiving there was somebody walking 
in the garden, he ran over the strings of the instru- 
ment ; and, having tuned it again as nicely as he 
could, he coughed and cleared his throat ; and then, 
with a voice somewhat hoarse, yet not unmusical, he 
sang the following song, which he had composed him- 
self that very day : — 

THE ADVICE. 

MATTEAUX'S TRANSLATION. 

Love, a strong, designing foe. 

Careless hearts with ease deceives ; 
Can thy breast resist his blow, 

Which your sloth unguarded leaves ? 

If you 're idle you 're destroyed, 

All his art on you he tries : 
But be watchful and employed, 

Straight the baffled tempter flies. 

Maids for modest grace admired, 
If they would their fortunes raise, 

Must in silence live retired : 

'Tis their virtue speaks their praise. 

The divine Tobosan fair, 

Dulcinea, claims me whole ; 
Nothing can her image tear ! 

' Tis one substance with my soul. 



230 WIT AND WISDOM 

Then letfc He or frown. 

Nothing shall my faith remove \ 
Constant truth, the lover's crown. 

I an work miracles in : 

TEE SAME AS TRANSLATED ET SMOLLETT. 

Love, with idleness x>mbii 

Will unhinge the :r_.:Ier mind : 

But to few, to work and mc ve. 

Will exclude the force of k 

Blooming mai is that would be married. 

Must in virtue be unwear: 
Modesty a dower will raise. 
And be a trumpet :: their praise. 
A cavalier will sport and play 

With a damsel frank and gay ; 
But. when wedlock is his aim. 
Choose a maid of sober fame. 

kin lied : 
By a stranger or a guest, 
Enters with the rising sun. 
And nee:- before his race be run : 
Love that comes sc suddenly, 
Ever on the wing to fly. 
Neither can nor will impart 
Strong impressions to the heart. 
' Pict td on pictures, show 

Strang* nf isioi iew : 

Sec >nd beauty finds no b: 
Where a first has taken place : 
Then Dulcinej eiffn 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 231 

Without a rival or a stain ; 

Nor shall fate itself control 

Her sway, or blot her from my soul : 

Constancy, the lovers boast, 

I '11 maintain whatever it cost : 

This, my virtue will refine ; 

This will stamp my joys divine. 

THE SAME AS TRANSLATED BY JARVI3- 

Love, with idleness is friend, 
O'er a maiden gains its end : 
But let business and employment 
Fill up every careful moment ; 
These an antidote will prove 
'Gainst the pois nous arts of love. ■ 
Maidens that aspire to marry. 
In their looks reserve should carry : 
Modesty their price should raise, 
And be the herald of their praise. 
Knights, whom toils of arms employ, 
With the free may laugh and toy ; 
But the modest only choose 
When they tie the nuptial noose. 
Love that rises with the sun. 
With his setting beams is gone : 
Love that guest-like visits hearts. 
When the banquet \s o'er, departs : 
And the love that comes to-day. 
And to-morrow wings its way, 
Leaves no traces on the soul, 
Its affections to control. 



232 WIT AND WISDOM 

Where a sovereign beauty reigns, 
Fruitless are a rival's pains. — 
O'er a finished picture who 
E'er a second picture drew ? 
Fair Dulcinea. queen of beauty. 
Kules my heart, and claims its duty, 
Nothing there can take her place. 
Naught her image can erase. 
Whether fortune smile or frown, 
Constancy 's the lover's crown : 
And. its force divine to prove. 
Miracles performs in love. 



THE GOVERNOR IX A RAGE. 

The history relates that Sancho Panza was conducted 
from the court of justice to a sumptuous palace, where 
in a great hall he found a magniheent entertainment 
prepared. He had no sooner entered than his ears were 
saluted by the sound of many instruments, and four 
pages served him with water to wash his hands, which 
the governor received with becoming gravity. The 
music having ceased. Sancho now sat down to dinner 
in a chair of state placed at the upper end of the table, 
for there was but one seat and only one plate and nap- 
kin. A personage, who. as it afterwards appeared, was 
a physician, took his stand at one side of his chair with 
a whalebone rod in his hand. They then removed the 
beautiful white cloth, which covered a variety of fruits 
and other eatables. Grace was said by one in a stu- 
dent's dress, and a laced bib was placed by a page 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 233 

under Sancho's chin. Another, who performed the 
office of sewer, now set a plate of fruit before him ; 
but he had scarcely tasted it, when, on being touched 
by the wand-bearer, it was snatched away, and another 
containing meat instantly supplied its place. Yet before 
Sancho could make a beginning it vanished, like the 
former, on a signal of the wand. 

The governor was surprised at this proceeding, and 
looking around him, asked if this dinner was only to 
show off their sleight of hand. 

"My lord," said the wand-bearer, "your lordship's 
food must here be watched with the same care as is 
customary with the governors of other islands. I am 
a doctor of physic, sir, and my duty, for which I receive 
a salary, is to watch over the governor's health, whereof 
I am more careful than of my own. I study his con- 
stitution night and day, that I may know how to restore 
him when sick ; and therefore think it incumbent on 
me to pay especial regard to his meals, at which I con- 
stantly preside, to see that he eats what is good and 
salutary, and prevent his touching whatever I imagine 
may be prejudicial to his health or offensive to his 
stomach. It was for that reason, my lord," continued 
he, " I ordered the dish of fruit to be taken away, as 
being too watery, and that other dish, as being too hot 
and over-seasoned with spices, which are apt to provoke 
thirst ; and he that drinks much destroys and consumes 
the radical moisture, which is the fuel of life." 

" Well, then," quoth Sancho, " that plate of roasted 
partridges, which seem to me to be very well seasoned, 
I suppose will do me no manner of harm ? " 



231 WIT AXD WISDOM 

••Hold." said the doctor. " my lord governor shall 
not eat them while I live to prevent it." 

•■ Pray, why not ? " quoth Sancho. 

v Because," answered the doctor, " our great master 
Hippocrates, the north star and luminary of medicine. 
says in one of his aphorisms. Omnis saturatio mala, per* 
diets autem pessima : which means. • All repletion is 
bad. but that from partridges the worst. 5 " 

••If it be so,' 3 quoth Sancho. " pray cast your eye. 
signor doctor, over all these dishes here on the table. 
and see which will do me the most good or the least 
harm, and let me eat of it without whisking it away 
with your eonjuring-stick : for. by my soul, and as 
Heaven shall give me life to enjoy this government, 
I am dying with hunger: and to deny me food — let 
signor doctor say what he will — is not the way to 
lengthen my life, but to cut it short," 

•• Your worship is in the right, my lord governor." 
answered the physician, •• and therefore I am of opin- 
ion you should not eat of these stewed rabbits, as being 
a food that is tough and acute : of that veal, indeed, you 
might have taken a little, had it been neither roasted 
nor stewed ; but as it is. not a morsel." 

••What think you. then." said Sancho. "of that 
huge dish there, smoking hot. which I take to be an 
olla-podrida ? — for. among the many things contained 
in it. I surely may light upon something both whole- 
some and toothsome.*' 

•• Absit ! " quoth the doctor, - ; far be such a thought 
from us. Olla-podrida ! there is no worse dish in the 
world. Leave them to prebends and rectors of colleges 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 235 

or lusty feeders at country weddings ; but let them not 
be seen on the tables of governors, where nothing con- 
trary to health and delicacy should be tolerated. Simple 
medicines are always more estimable and safe, for in 
them there can be no mistake, whereas in such as are 
compounded all is hazard and uncertainty. Therefore, 
what I would at present advise my lord governor to eat, 
in order to corroborate and preserve his health, is about 
a hundred small rolled-up wafers, with some thin slices 
of marmalade, that may sit upon the stomach and help 
digestion." 

Sancho, hearing this, threw himself backward in his 
chair, and looking at the doctor from head to foot very 
seriously, asked him his name and where he had stud- 
ied. To which he answered. "My lord governor, my 
name is Doctor Pedro Rezio de Aguero ; I am a native 
of a place called Tirteafuera, lying between Caraquel 
and Almoddobar del Campo, on the right hand, and I 
have taken my doctor's degrees in the university of 
Qssuna." 

" Then, hark you," said Sancho in a rage, " Signor 
Doctor Pedro Rezzio de Aguero. native of Tirteafuera, 
lying on the right hand as we go from Caraquel to 
Almoddobar del Campo, graduate in Ossuna, get out 
of my sight this instant, or, by the light of Heaven, I 
will take a cudgel, and, beginning with your carcass, 
will so belabor all the physic-mongers in the island, 
that not one of the tribe shall be left! — I mean of 
those like yourself, who are ignorant quacks. For 
those who are learned and wise I shall make much of 
and honor as so many angels. I say again, Signor 



236 WIT AND WISDOM 

Pedro Rezio, begone, or I shall take the chair I sit on 
and comb your head to some tune ; and if I am called 
to an account for it when I give up my office, I shall 
prove that I have done a good service in ridding the 
world of a bad physician, who is a public executioner. 
Body of me ! give me something to eat, or let them take 
back their government, — for an office that will not find 
a man in victuals is not worth two beans.'' 

On seeing the governor in such a fury the doctor 
would have fled out in the hall had not the sound of a 
courier's horn at that instant been heard in the street. 
tw A courier from my lord duke," said the sewer (who 
had looked out of the window), fk and he must certainly 
have brought despatches of importance." 

The courier entered hastily, foaming with sweat and 
in great agitation, and pulling a packet out of his 
bosom, he delivered it into the governor's hands, and 
by him it was given to the steward, telling him to read 
the superscription, which was this: " To Don Sancho 
Panza, Governor of the Island of Barataria. To be 
delivered only to himself or to his secretary." 

;; Who is my secretary ? " said Sancho. 

"It is I, my lord," answered one who was present, 
"for I can read and write, and am, besides, a Bis- 
cay an." 

"With that addition," quoth Sancho, "you may 
ver£ well be secretary to the emperor himself. Open 
tli9 packet and see what it holds." 

The new secretary did so, and having run his eye 
over the contents, he said it was a business which re- 
quired privacy. Accordingly, Sancho commanded all 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 237 

to retire excepting the steward and sewer ; and when 
the hall was cleared, the secretary read the following 
letter : — 

"It has just come to my knowledge, Signor Don 
Panza, that certain enemies of mine intend very soon 
to make a desperate attack, by night, upon the island 
under your command ; it is necessary, therefore, to be 
vigilant and alert, that you may not be taken by sur- 
prise. I have also received intelligence from trusty 
spies, that four persons in disguise are now in your 
town, sent thither by the enemy, who, fearful of your 
great talents, have a design upon your life. Keep a 
strict watch, be careful who are admitted to you, and 
eat nothing sent you as a present. I will not fail to 
send you assistance if you are in want of it. Whatever 
may be attempted, I have full reliance on your activity 
and judgment. 

" Your friend, 

" The Duke. 
"From this place, the 16th of August, 
at four in the morning." 

Sancho was astonished at this information, and the 
others appeared to be no less so. At length, turning to 
the steward, " I will tell you," said he, <4 the first thing 
to be done, which is to clap Doctor Rezio into a dun- 
geon ; for if anybody has a design to kill me, it is he, 
and that by the most lingering and the worst of all 
deaths, — starvation." 

" Be that as it may," said the steward, "it is my 
opinion your honor would do well to eat none of the 
meat here upon the table, for it was presented by some 



23 S WIT AND WISDOM 

nans, and it is a saying, • The devil larks behind the 
cross. 3 " 

-• Yon are in the right.'" quoth Sancho. ,; and for the 
present give me only a piece of bread and seme four 
pounds of grapes. — there can be no poison in them. — 
for, in truth, I cannot live without food, and if we mast 
keep in readiness for these battles that threaten us. it 
is tit that we should be well fed, for the stomach upholds 
the heart and the heart the man. Do you. Mr. Secre- 
tary, answer the letter of my lord duke, and tell him 
his commands shall be obeyed throughout most faith- 
fully ; and present my dutiful respects to my lady 
duchess, and beg her not to forget to send a special 
messenger with my letter and bundle to my wife Teresa 
Panza. which I shall take as a particular favor, and will 
be her humble servant to the utmost of my power. 
And. by the way. you may put in my hearty service to 
my master, Don Quixote de la Mancha, that he may 
see that I am neither forgetful nor ungrateful : and as 
to the rest. I leave it to you, as a good secretary and 
a true Biscayan. to add whatever you please, or that 
may turn to the best account. Xow away with this 
cloth, and bring me something that may be eaten, and 
then let these spies, murderers, and enchanters see how 
they meddle with me or my island." 

A page now entered, saying. •• Here is a countryman 
who would speak with your lordship on business, as he 
says, of great importance." 

••It is very strange," quoth Sancho, "that these 
men of business should be so silly as not to see that 
this is not a time for such matters. What ! we who 



OF DON QUIXOTE, 239 

govern and belike are not made of flesh and bone like 
other men ! We are made of marble-stone, forsooth, 
and have no need of rest or refreshment ! Before Heaven 
and upon my conscience, if my government lasts, as I 
have a glimmering it will not, I shall hamper more than 
one of these men of business ! Well, for this once, tell 
the- fellow to come in ; but first see that he is no spy, 
nor one of my murderers." 

" He looks, my lord," answered the page, " like a 
simple fellow, and I am much mistaken if he be not as 
harmless as a crust of bread." 

" Your worship need not fear," quoth the steward, 
" since we are with you." 

" But now that Doctor Pedro Rezio is gone/' quoth 
Sancho, u may I not have something to eat of substance 
and weight, though it were but a luncheon of bread and 
an onion ? ' ' 

" At night your honor shall have no cause to com- 
plain," quoth the sewer; "supper shall make up for 
the want of dinner." 

" Heaven grant it may," replied Sancho. 



THE COUNTRYMAN'S TALE. 

The' countryman, who was of goodly presence, then 
came in, and it might be seen a thousand leagues off 
that he was an honest, good soul. 

" Which among you here is the lord governor?" 
said he. 

u Who should it be," answered the secretary, " but 
he who is seated in the chair? " 



240 WIT AND WISDOM 

"I humble myself in his presence," quoth the coun- 
tryman ; and kneeling down, he begged for his hand 
to kiss. 

Sancho refused it, and commanded him to rise and 
tell his business. The countryman did so, and said : 
" My lord, I am a husbandman, a native of Miguel 
Terra, two leagues from Ciudad Real." 

"What! another Tirtea-fuera ? " quoth Sancho. 
" Say on, brother ; for let me tell you, I know Miguel 
Terra very well ; it is not very far from my own 
village." 

"The business is this, sir," continued the peasant : 
"by the mercy of Heaven I was married in peace and 
in the face of the holy Roman Catholic Church. I 
have two sons, bred scholars ; the younger studies for 
bachelor, and the elder for licentiate. I am a widower, 
for my wife died, or rather a wicked physician killed 
her by improper medicines when she was pregnant ; 
and if it had been God's will that the child had been 
born, and had proved a son, I would have put him to 
study for doctor, that he might not envy his two broth- 
ers, the bachelor and the licentiate." 

" So that, if your wife," quoth Sancho, "had not 
died, or had not been killed, you would not now be a 
widower." 

"No, certainly, my lord," answered the peasant. 

"We are much the nearer," replied Sancho; " go 
on, friend, for this is an hour rather for bed than 
business." % 

" I say, then," quoth the countryman, "that my son 
who is to be the bachelor fell in love with a damsel in 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 241 

the same village, called Clara Perlerino, daughter of 
Andres Perlerino. a very rich farmer ; which name of 
Perlerino came to them not by lineal or any other de- 
scent, but because all of that race are paralytic : and 
to mend the name, they call them Perlerinos. Indeed, 
to say the truth, the damsel is like any oriental pearl, 
and looked at on the right side seems a very flower of 
the field : but on the left not quite so fair, for on that 
side she wants an eye, which she lost by the small-pox; 
and though the pits in her face are many and deep, her 
admirers say they are not pits but graves wherein the 
hearts of her lovers are buried. So clean and delicate, 
too. is she, that to prevent defiling her face, she carries 
her nose so hooked up that it seems to fly from her 
mouth ; yet for all that she looks charmingly, for she 
has a large mouth, and did she not lack half a score or 
a dozen front teeth she might pass and make a figure 
among the fairest. I say nothing of her lips* for they 
are so thin that, were it the fashion to reel lips, one 
might make a skein of them ; but. b dug of a different 
color from what is usual in lips, they have a marvellous 
appearance, for they are streaked with blue, green, and 
orange-tawny. Pardon me. good my lord governor, if 
I paint so minutely the parts of her who is about to 
become my daughter ; for in truth I love and admire 
her more than I can tell." 

"Paint what you will,'' quoth Sancho, "for I am 
mightily taken with the picture ; and had I but dined, 
I would not desire a better dessert than your portrait."' 

"It shall be always at your servic^,' : answered the 
peasant; ••and the time may come when Ave maybe 

16 



242 WIT AXD WISDOM 

acquainted, though we are not so now,* and I assure 
you, my lord, if I could but paint her genteelness and 
the tallness of her person, you would admire : but that 
cannot be. because she is crooked, and crumpled up 
together, and her knees touch her mouth ; though, for 
all that, you may see plainly that could she but stand 
upright she would touch the ceiling with her head. 
And she would ere now have given her hand to my 
bachelor to be his wife, but that she cannot stretch it 
out, it is so shrunk ; neYertheless. her long guttered 
nails show the goodness of its make." 

" So far so good," quoth Sancho : " and now, brother, 
make account that you have painted her from head to 
foot. What is it you would be at ? Come to the point 
without so many windings and turnings, so many fetches 
and digressions." 

" What I desire, my lord," answered the countryman, 
"is, that your lordship would do me the favor to give 
me a letter of recommendation to her father, begging 
his consent to the match, since we are pretty equal in 
our fortunes and natural endowments ; for, to say the 
truth, my lord governor, my son is possessed, and 
scarcely a day passes in which the evil spirits do not 
torment him three or four times : and having thereby 
once fallen into the fire, his face is as shriYelled as a 
piece of scorched parchment, and his eyes are somewhat 
bleared and running : but, bless him ! he has the tem- 
per of an angel, and did he not buffet and belabor him- 
self, he would be a very saint for gentleness." 

" Would you haYe anything else, honest friend?" 
said Sancho. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 213 

•• One thing more I would ask," quoth the peasant, 
' : but I dare not, — yet out it shall : come what may, 
it shall uot rot in my breast. I say then, my lord, I 
could wish your worship to give me three or six hun- 
dred ducats towards mending the fortunes of my bach- 
elor, — : I mean, to assist in furnishing his house ; for it 
is igre i that they shall live by themselves, without 
being subject to the impertinences of their fathers-in- 
law." 

"Well," quoth Sancho, ;, see if there is anything 
else you would have, and be uot squeamish in ask- 

•• Xo. nothing more." answered the peasant. 

The governor then rising, and seizing the chair on 
which he had been seated, exclaimed. k - I vow to Heaven, 
Don Lubberly, saucy bumpkin, if you do not instantly 
get out of my sight, I will break your head with this 
chair ! Son of a rascal, and the devil's own painter ! 
At this time of day to come and ask me for six hun- 
dred ducat- ! Where should I have them, villain ? And 
if I had them, idiot ! why should I give them to thee V 
What care I for Miguel Terra, or for the whole race of 
the Perlerinos ? Begone, I say ! or, by the life of my 
lord duke. I will be as good as my word. Thou art no 
native of Miguel Terra, but some scoffer sent from the 
devil to tempt me. Impudent scoundrel ! I have not 
had the government a day and a half, and you 
expect I should have six hundred ducats '. ' ' 

The sewer made siuns to the countryman to go out 
of the hall, which he did, hanging down his head, and 
seemingly much afraid lest the governor should put his 



2M WIT AND WISDOM 

threat into execution, — for the knave knew very well 
how to play his part. 

Bat let us leave Sancho in his passion ; peace be with 
him ! 

The devil will never give you a high nose if a flat 
nose will serve your turn. 



All is not gold that glitters. 



I am fully convinced that judges and governors are, 
or ought to be, made of brass, so as that they may not 
feel the importunity of people of business, who expect 
to be heard and despatched at all hours and at all 
seasons, come what will, attending only to their own 
affairs ; and if the poor devil of a judge does not hear 
and despatch them, either because it is not in his power, 
or it happens to be an unseasonable time for giving 
audience, then they grumble and backbite, gnaw him 
to the very bones, and even bespatter his whole genera- 
tion. Ignorant man of business ! foolish man of busi- 
ness ! be not in such a violent hurry ; wait for the 
proper "season and conjuncture, and come not at meals 
and sleeping-time ; for judges are made of flesh and 
blood, and must give to nature that which nature 
requires. 

Good physicians deserve palms and laurels. 



Either we are, or we are not. 
Walls have ears. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 245 

Let lis all live and eat together in harmony and good 
friendship. 

When God sends the morning, the light shines upon 
all. 

Make yourselves honey, and the flies will devour 
you. 

Your idle and lazy people in a commonwealth are 
like drones in a beehive, which only devour the honey 
the laboring: bees gather. 



Every day produces something new in the world : 
jests turn into earnest, and the biters are bit. 



They who expect snacks should be modest, and take 
cheerfully whatever is given them, and not haggle with 
the winners ; unless they know them to be sharpers, 
and their gains unfairly gotten. 



THE GOVERNOR'S ROUXD OF INSPECTION. 

After traversing a few streets, they heard the clash- 
ing of swords, and, hastening to the place, they found 
two men fighting. On seeing the officers coming they 
desisted, and one of them said, " Help, in the name of 
Heaven and the king ! Are people to be attacked here, 
"and robbed in the open streets ? " 

"Hold, honest man," quoth Sancho, "and tell me 
what is the occasion of this fray ; for I am the gov- 
ernor." 

His antagonist, interposing, said, "My lord gov- 



246 WIT AND WISDOM 

ernor, I will briefly relate the matter: — Your honor 
must know that this gentleman is just come from the 
gaming-house over the way, where he has been win- 
ning above a thousand reals, and heaven knows how, 
except that I, happening to be present, was induced, 
even against my conscience, to give judgment in his 
favor in many a doubtful point ; and when I expected 
he would have given me something, though it were but 
the small matter of a crown, by way of present, as it is 
usual with gentlemen of character like myself, who 
stand by, ready to back unreasonable demands, and to 
prevent quarrels, up he got, with his pockets filled, and 
marched out of the house. 

" Surprised and vexed at such conduct, I followed 
him, civilly reminded him that he could not refuse me 
the small sum of eight reals, as he knew me to be a 
man of honor, without either office or pension ; my 
parents having brought me up to nothing : yet this 
knave, who is as great a thief as Cacus, and as arrant a 
sharper as Andradilla, would give me but four reals ! 
Think, my lord governor, what a shameless and un- 
conscionable fellow he is ! But as I live had it not 
been for your worship coming, I would have made him 
disgorge his winnings, and taught him how to balance 
accounts." 

"What shall be done," replied Sancho, "is this; 
you, master winner, whether by fair play or foul, in- 
stantly give your hackster here a hundred reals, and 
pay down thirty more for the poor prisoners ; and you, 
sir, who have neither office nor pension, nor honest 
employment, take the hundred reals, and, some time 



OF DOX QUIXOTE. 247 

to-morrow, be sure you get out of this island, nor set 
foot in it again these ten years, unless you would 
finish your banishment in the next lite : for if I find 
you here, I will make you swing on a gibber — at least 
the hano'inan shall do it for me : so let no man reply, 
or he shall repent it." 

The decree was immediately executed : the one dis- 
burse;!, the other received ; the one quitted the island. 
t!is other went home. 



Cheats are always at the mercy of their accomplices. 



The maid that would keep her good name, stays at 
home as if she were lame. A hen and a housewife, 
whatever they cost, if once they go gadding will 
surely be lost. And she that longs to see. I ween, is 
as desirous to be seen. 

Good fortune wants only a beginning. 



When they offer thee a government, lav hold of it. 



When an earldom is put before thee, lay thy clutches 

on it. 



When they throw thee some beneficial bone, snap at 
the favor : if not, sleep on and never answer to good 
fortune and preferment when they knock at thy door. 



Truth will always rise uppermost, as oil rises above 
water. 



Seeing is believing. 



24 S WIT ANL DOM 

A : ; ':. ng : reasc d each thing lias its season. 



When justice is loubtful, I should lean to the side 

of nic: 

A MESSE1 I PANZA. 

Being desirous to please his lord and lady, he set off 
h g : Sancho's - i Ha ge . H aving arrived 
near it, he inquired of some women whom he 
washing in a I : there lived not in that town one 

Teres* ife of one Sancho Panza, squire to a 

knight called Don Quix ncha. 

■• That Teres is my m ther,' 5 said i young 

was washing among the rest, and that S - 
eho my own fa 1 that knight our : 

•Are they bo?" quoth the . »me then, 

good girl, and lead me to your mother, for I 1 
letter a ijken for her from that same father of 

yours 

" That I will, with all my ? ered the 

girl ( to be a! rs of age) ; 

and leaving the linen she was shing to one of her 
companions, withoi ng : r ither her head 

ay she g along before the page's 

horse, 1, and her hair dishevelled. 

• Come along, sir, an .*' quoth she. " for 

our house st d you will find my 

mother in trouble enough for being so long without 
tidings of my : 

" Well," sai the page, -I now bring her news that 
will cheer her heart. I " her." 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 249 



5' 



So on he went, with his guide running, skippi 
and capering before him, till they reached the village, 
and-, before she got up to the house, she called out 
aloud, "Mother, mother, come out!, here's a gentle- 
man who brings letters and other things from my good 
father." 

At these words out came her mother Teresa Panza 
with a distaff in her hand — for she was spinning flax. 
She was clad in a russet petticoat, so short that it 
looked as if it had been docked at the placket, with a 
jacket of the same, and the sleeves of her nnder-gar- 
ment hanging about it. She appeared to be about 
forty years of age and was strong, hale, sinewy, and 
hard as a hazel-nut. 

" What is the matter, girl?" quoth she. seeing her 
daughter with the page ; " what gentleman is that?*' 

" It is an humble servant of my Lady Donna Teresa 
Panza," answered the page ; and throwing himself 
from his horse, with great respect he went and kneeled 
before the Lady Teresa, saying. ** Be pleased, Signora 
Donna Teresa, to give me your ladyship's hand to kiss, 
as the lawful wife of Signor Don Sancho Panza, sole 
governor of the island of Barataria." 

" Alack-a-day, good sir, how you talk ! *' she replied : 
"I am no court-dame, but a poor country woman, 
daughter of a ploughman, and wife indeed of a squire- 
errant, but no governor *' 

"Your ladyship," answered the page, "is the most 
worthy wife of a thrice-worthy governor, and to con- 
firm the truth of what I say, be pleased, madam, to 
receive what I here bring vou." 



250 WIT AND WISDOM 

He then drew the letter from his pocket, and a 
string of corals, each bead set in gold, and, putting it 
about her neck, he said, "This letter is from my lord 
governor, and another that I have here, and those 
corals are from my lady duchess, who sends me to your 
ladyship." 

Teresa and her daughter were all. astonishment. 

"May I die," said the girl, " if our master Don 
Quixote be not at the bottom of this— as sure as day 
he has given my father the government or earldom he 
has so often promised him." 

" It is even so," answered the page ; " and for Sig- 
nor Don Quixote's sake, my Lord Sancho is now gov- 
ernor of the island of Barataria, as the letter will 
inform you." 

"Pray, young gentleman," quoth Teresa, "be 
pleased to read it ; for though I can spin I cannot read 
a jot." 

"Nor I neither, i' faith," cried Sanchica ; "but 
stay a little, and I will fetch one who can, either the 
bachelor Sampson Carrasco or the priest himself, who 
will come with all their hearts to hear news of my 
father." 

"You need not take that trouble," said the page; 
" for I can read though I cannot spin, and will read it 
to you." Which he accordingly did : but as its con- 
tents have already been given, it is not here repeated. 
He then produced the letter from the duchess, and 
read as follows : — 



OF' DON QUIXOTE. 251 

'•Friend Teresa, — 

"Finding your husband Sancho worthy of ray 
esteem for his honesty and good understanding, I pre- 
vailed upon the duke, my spouse, to make him gov- 
ernor of one of the many islands in his possession. I 
am informed he governs like any hawk ; at which I 
and my lord duke are mightily pleased, and give many 
thanks to Heaven that I have not been deceived in my 
choice, for madam Teresa may be assured that it is no 
easy matter to find a good governor — and God make 
me as good as Sancho governs well. I have sent you, 
my dear friend, a string of corals sat in gold — I wish 
they were oriental pearls ; but whoever gives thee a 
bone has no mind to see thee dead : the time will come 
when we shall be better acquainted, and converse with 
each other, and then heaven knows what may happen. 
Commend me to your daughter ^anchica. and tell her 
from me to get herself ready : for I mean -to have her 
highly married when she least expects it. I am told 
the acorns near your town are very large — pray send 
me some two dozen of them ; for I shall value them 
the more as coming from your hand. Write to me 
immediately, to inform me of your health and welfare ; 
and if you want anything, you need but open your 
mouth, and it shall be measured. So God keep you. 
11 Your loving Friend, 

" The Duchess. 

"From this place." 

11 Ah ! " quoth Teresa, at hearing the letter, " how 
good, how plain, how humble a lady ! let me be buried 



252 WIT AXD WISDOM 

with such ladies as this, say I and not with such proud 
madams as this town affords, -who think because they 
are gentlefolks, the wind must not blow upon them ; 
and go flaunting to church as if they were queens ! 
they seem to think it a disgrace to look upon a peas- 
ant woman : and yet you see how this good lady, 
though she be a duchess, calls me friend, and treats me 
as if I were her equal ! — and equal may I see her to 
the highest steeple in La Mancha ! As to the acorns, 
sir. I will send her ladyship a peck of them, and such 
as. for their size, people shall come from far and near 
to see and admire. But for the present, Sanchica. 1ft 
us make much of this gentleman. Do thou take care 
of his horse, child, and bring some new-laid eggs out 
of the stable, and slice some rashers of bacon, and let 
us entertain him like any prince : for his good news 
and his own good looks deserve no less.'' 

Sanchica now came in with her lap full of eggs. 
u Pray, sir," said she to the page. •• does my father, 
now he is a governor, wear trunk-hose ? " 1 

; - 1 never observed," answered the page. " but doubt- 
less he does."' 

•• God's my life ! " replied Sanchica, u what a sight 
to see my father in long breeches ? Is it not strange 
that ever since I was born I have longed to see my 
father with breeches of that fashion laced to his 
girdle ': " 

" I warrant you will have that pleasure if you live," 

1 Trunk-ho?e were prohibited by royal decree shortly after the 
publication of Don Quixote. 



OF DOX QUIXOTE, 253 

answered the page; '• before Heaven, if his govern- 
ment lasts but two months, he is likely to travel with 
a cape to his cap." l 

OF THE PROGRESS OF SAXCHO PANZA'S GOVERN- 
MENT. 

The first business that occurred on that clay was 
an appeal to his judgment in a case which was thus 
stated by a stranger — the appellant : " My lord," said 
he, " there is a river which passes through the domains 
of a certain lord, dividing it into two parts — I beseech 
your honor to give me your attention, for it is a case 
of great importance and some difficulty. I say, then, 
that upon this river there was a bridge, and at one end 
of it a gallows and a kind of court-house, where four 
judges sit to try, and pass sentence upon those who are 
found to transgress a certain law enacted by the pro- 
prietor, which runs thus : ' Whoever would pass over 
this bridge must first declare upon oath whence he 
comes, and upon what business he is going ; and if lie 
swears the truth, he shall pass over ; but if he swears to 
a falsehood, he shall certainly die upon a gibbet there 
provided.' 

" After this law was made -known, many persons ven- 
tured over it, and the truth of what they swore being 
admitted, they were allowed freely to pass. But a 
man now comes demanding a passage over the bridge ; 
and, on taking the required oath, he swears that he is 

1 It was customary for men of quality to wear a veil or 
mask depending from the covering worn on the head, in order to 
shield the face from the sun. 



254 WIT AND WISDOM 

going to be executed upon the gibbet before him, and 
that he has no other business. The judges deliberated, 
but would not decide. c If we let this man pass freely, 1 
said they, ' he will have sworn falsely, and by the law, he 
ought to die : and, if we hang him, he will verify his 
oath, and he, having sworn the truth, ought to have 
passed unmolested as the law ordains.' The case, my 
lord, is yet suspended, for the judges know not how to 
act ; and, therefore having heard of your lordship's 
great wisdom and acuteness, they have sent me hum- 
bly to beseech your lordship on their behalf, to give 
your opinion in so intricate and perplexing a case." 

" To deal plainly with you," said Sancho, " these 
gentlemen judges who sent you to me might have 
saved themselves and you the labor ; for I have more 
of the blunt than the acute in me. However, let me 
hear your question once more, that I may understand 
it the better, and mayhap I may chance to hit the right 
nail on the head." 

The man accordingly told his tale once or twice more, 
and when he had done, the governor thus delivered his 
opinion: "To my thinking," said he, ''this matter 
may soon be settled ; and I will tell you how. The 
man, you say,.sw T ears he is going to die upon the gal- 
lows ; and if he is hanged, it would be against the law, 
because he swore the truth *, and if they do not hang 
him, why then he swore a lie, and ought to have suf- 
fered." 

" It is just as you say, my lord governor," said the 
messenger, "and nothing more is wanting to a right 
understanding of the case." 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 255 

"T say, then," continued Sancho, "that they must 
let that part of the man pass that swore the truth and 
hang that part that swore the lie, and thereby the law 
will be obeyed." 

" If so, my lord," replied the stranger, "the man 
must be divided into two parts ; and thereby he will 
certainly die, and thus the law*, which we are bound 
to observe, is in no respect complied with." 

" Harkee, honest man," said Sancho, " either T have 
no brains, or there is as much reason to put this pas- 
senger to death as to let him live and pass the bridge ; 
for, if the truth saves him, the lie also condemns him, 
and this being so, you may tell those gentlemen who 
sent you to me, that since the reasons for condemning 
and acquitting him are equal, they should let the man 
pass freely, for it is always more commendable to do 
good than to do harm." 

Sancho having plentifully dined that clay, in spite of 
all the aphorisms of Dr. Tirteafuera, when the cloth was 
removed in came an express with a letter from Don 
Quixote to the governor. Sancho ordered the secretary 
to read it to himself, and if there was nothing in it for 
secret perusal, then to read it aloud. The secretary 
having first run it over, accordingly, " My lord," said 
he, " the letter may not only be publicly read, but 
deserves to be engraved in characters of gold ; and 
thus it is : — " 

DON QUIXOTE PE LA MANCHA TO SANCHO PAXZA, 
GOVERNOR OF THE ISLAND OF BARATARIA. 

" When I expected to have had an account of thy 
carelessness and blunders, friend Sancho, I was agree- 



256 WIT AND WISDOM 

ably disappointed with news, of thy wise behavior, — 
for which I return thanks to Heaven, that can raise the 
lowest from their poverty and turn the fool into a man 
of sense. I hear thou goveraest with all discretion ; 
and that, nevertheless, thou retainest the humility of 
the meanest creature. But I would observe to thee, 
Sancho, that it is often expedient and necessary, for 
the due support of authority, to act in contradiction 
to the humility of the heart. The personal adornments 
of one that is raised to a high situation must correspond 
with liis present greatness, and not with his former 
lowliness. Let thy apparel, therefore, be good and be- 
coming ; for the hedgestake, when decorated no longer, 
appears what it really is, I do not mean that thou 
shouldst wear jewels or finery ; nor, being a judge, 
would I have thee dress like a soldier ; but adorn thy- 
self in a manner suitable to thy employment. To gain 
the good- will of thy people, two things, among others, 
thou must not fail to observe . one is, to be courteous 
to all, — that, indeed, I have already told thee; the 
other is, to take especial care that the people be exposed 
to no scarcity of food, for, with the poor, hunger is, of 
all afflictions, the most insupportable. Publish few 
edicts, but let those be good ; and, above all, see that 
they are well observed, for edicts that are not kept are 
the same as not made, and serve only to show that the 
prince, though he had wisdom and authority to make 
them had not the courage to insist upon their execution. 
Laws that threaten and are not enforced become like 
King Log, whose croaking subjects first feared, then 
despised him. Be a father to virtue and a step-father 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 257 

to vice. Be not always severe, nor always mild ; but 
choose the happy mean between them, which is the 
true point of discretion. Visit the prisons, the sham- 
bles, and the markets : for there the presence of the 
governor is highly necessary. Such attention is a com- 
fort to the prisoner hoping for release ; it is a terror to 
the butchers, who then dare not make use of false 
weights ; and the same effect is produced on all other 
dealers. Shouldst thou unhappily be secretly inclined 
to avarice, to gluttony, or women, — which I hope thou 
art not, — avoid showing thyself guilty of these vices ; 
for, when those who are concerned with thee discover 
thy ruling passion, they will assault thee on that quar- 
ter, nor leave thee till they have effected thy destruc- 
tion. View and review, consider and reconsider, the 
counsels and documents I gave thee in writing before 
thy departure hence to thy government, and in them 
thou wilt find a choice supply to sustain thee through 
the toils and difficulties which governors must continu- 
ally encounter. Write to thy patrons, the duke and 
duchess, and show thyself grateful, for ingratitude is 
the daughter of pride, and one of the greatest sins ; 
whereas, he who is grateful to those that have done 
him service, thereby testifies that he will be grateful 
also to God, his constant benefactor. 

u My lady duchess has despatched a messenger to 
thy wife Teresa with thy hunting-suit, and also a pres- 
ent from herself. We expect an answer every moment. 
I have been a little out of order with a certain cat- 
clawing which befell me, not much to the advantage 
of my nose ; but it was nothing, for if there are en- 

17 



253 Tivr AND WISDOM 

chanters who persecute me. there are others whc def -.: 1 

me. Let me know it the steward who is with 

any hand in the actions of the 

suspec '.. give me advice, from time 

qs :: thee, since the distance between us 
is so short. I think of quitting this idle life 
for I was not born for luxury and ease. A circumstance 
hich may. I believe, tend to deprive me 
of the favor of the duke and duchess : but. though it- 
afflicts me much.it affects not my determination, fbi 
I must comply with the duties of my ] i : fessi :n in pref- 
to any other claim : as it is often said. A : j 
Plato sed itas. I write this in L 

being persuaded that thou hast learned that langu ige 
since thy a. Farewell, and God have 

His keeping ; so mayst thou escape the pity of the 
world. 

•• Thy friend, 

"Don Quixote de la Mancha. ,? 

Sancho gave great att : the letter : and it was 

highly applauded, both for sense and inte. 
everybody that heard it. Aftei m the 

. and calling the secretary, went without any fur- 
delay and locked himself up with him in his 
chaml rite an answer to his master, Pen Quix- 

c re. which was as foil-: ws : — 

SANCHO EANZA TO DON QUIXOTE DE LA MANCHA. 

■• I am so taken up with busii. 
had time to let you know whether it goes well or ill 



OF BOX QUIXOTE, 239 

jrith me in this same government, where I am more 
hunger-starved than when you and I wandered through 
woods and wildernesses. 

" My lord duke wrote to me the other day to inform 
me of some spies that were got into this island to kill 
me ; but as yet I have discovered none but a certain 
doctor, hired by the islanders to kill all the governors 
that come near it. They call him Dr. Pedro Rezio de 
Anguero, and he was born at Tirteafuera. His name 
is enough to make me fear he will be the death of me. 
This same doctor says of him self , that he does cure 
diseases when you have them ; but when you have the in 
not, he only pretends to keep them from coming. The 
physic he uses is fasting upon fasting, till he turns a 
body to a mere skeleton ; as if to be wasted to skin 
and bones were not as bad as a fever. In short, he 
starves me to death ; so that, when I thought, as being 
a governor, to have plenty of good hot victuals and 
cool liquor, and to repose on a soft feather-bed, I am 
come to do penance like a hermit. 

t; I have not yet so much as fingered the least penny 
of money, either for fees or anything else ; and how it 
comes to be no better with me I cannot imagine, for I 
have heard that the governors who come to this island 
are wont to have a very good gift, or at least a very 
round sum given them by the town before they enter. 
And they say, too. that this is the usual custom, not 
only here but in other places. 

' Last night, in going my rounds, I met witli a 
mighty handsome damsel in boy's clothes, and a brother 
of hers in woman's apparel. My gentleman-waiter fell 



230 WIT AND WISDOM 

in love with the girl, and intends to make her his wife, 
as he says. As for the youth, 1 have pitched on him 
to be my son-in-law. To-day we both design to talk to 
the father, one Diego de la Liana, who is a gentleman, 
and an old Christian every inch of him. 

" I visit the markets as you advised me, and yester- 
day found one of the hucksters selling hazel-nuts. She 
pretended the} 7 were all new ; but I found she had 
mixed a whole bushel of old, empty, rotten nuts among 
the same quantity of new. With that I adjudged them 
to be given to the hospital boys, who know how to pick 
the good from the bad, and gave sentence against her 
that she should not come into the market for fifteen 
days ; and people said I did well. 

" I am mighty well pleased that my lady duchess 
has written to my wife, Teresa Panza, and sent her the 
token you mention. It shall go hard but I will requite 
her kindness one time or other. Pray give my service 
to her, and tell her. from me she has not cast her gift in 
a broken sack, as something more than words shall 
show- 

"If I might advise you, and had my wish, there 
should be no falling out between your worship and my 
lord and lady ; for, if you quarrel with them, it is I 
must come by the worst for it. And, since you mind 
me of being grateful, it will not look well in you not to 
be so to those who have made so much of you at their 
castle. 

" If my wife, Teresa Panza, writes to me, pray pay 
the postage and send me the letter ; for I have a mighty 
desire to know how fares it with her, and my house and 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 281 

children. So Heaven protect your worship from evil- 
minded enchanters, and bring me s'afe and sound out 
of this government ; which I very much doubt, seeing 
how I am treated by Doctor Pedro Kezio. 
u Your worship's servant, 

u Sancho Panza, the Governor." 



TERESA PANZA8 LETTER TO HER HUSBAND, SANCHO 
PANZA. 

" I received thy letter, dear Sancho of my soul, and 
I promise and swear to thee, on the faith of a Catholic 
Christian, I was within two finger-breadths of running 
mad with joy ; and take notice, brother, when I heard 
thou wast a governor, I had liked to have dropped down 
dead with pure pleasure ; for thou knowest they say 
sudden joy kills as well as deadly sorrow. 

" Thy hunting-suit lay before me, the string of corals 
sent by lady duchess w T as tied round my neck, the 
letters were in my hand, and the messenger in my 
presence ; and yet I imagined and believed that all I 
saw and handled was a dream, for who could conceive 
that a goatherd should come to be governor of islands ? 
Thou knowest, my friend, that my mother said, ' One 
must live long to see a great deal.' This I mention 
because I hope to see more if I live longer, for I do not 
intend to stop until I see thee a farmer or collector of 
the revenue, — offices which, though they carry those 
who abuse them to the devil, are, in short, always bring- 
ing in the penny. 

u My lady duchess will tell thee how desirous I am 



262 WIT AND WISDOM 

:f going ~: ;::.::, Consider jf it. and let me know thy 
ire, for I will endeavor to do thee honor there by 
riding in my : 

" The cv . bachelor, and even the sexton, 

cannot believe thou art a governor, and say the 

deception or matter :: ench like all the 

affairs :; thy master, Don Quixote. Sampson vo 
will go in r. and drive : .:- _ T ernment out 

of thy head, as well as the madness out of Don Quixote's 
skull. I say n thii ign in my own sleeve, look 

at my v^ how to make thy hunting- 

suit into a gown and petticoat for our daughter. I 
sent some ms iuchess, and I wish they 

were . Send me some strings of pearls, if they 

are in fashion in thy ish 

The news >i : hi town are these: : the 

hill has m 

who came here and undertook all sort of work. The 
corporation employed hi king's arms 

the gate : the t ra-hc ise. He asked them two ducats 

ihe job, which they paid beforehand; so he fe] 
it and work sight days, at the end of which he had 
mad- -aid he could not bring his 

hand to paint such trumpery, and ret 

I] that, he married in the name of a good work- 
man. The truth is, rn up 
the spade, and goes to the field like a e n. Pedro 
de Lobo's son has taken rders and shaved I 
meaning to be a priest. Minguilla, Ming Silv 

lg : it. is suing him upon a promise of mar: 
We nave had no olives this year, dot is there a drc 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 2*33 

trinegar to be had in afl the town. A company of foot- 
soldiers passed through here, and carried off with them 
three girls. I will not say who they are ; mayhap they 
will return, and somebody or other marry them, with 
all their fault?. Sanchica makes bone-lace, and gets 
eight maravedis a day. which she drops into a saving- 
box, to help her toward household stuff : but now that 
she is a governor's daughter, she has no need to work, 
for thou wilt give her a portion without it. The foun- 
tain in our market-place is dried up. A thunderbolt 
fell upon the pillory, and there may they all alight! 
I expect an answer to this, and about my going to 
court. And so God grant thee more years than my- 
self, or as many, for I would not willingly leave thee 
behind me. 

t; Thy wife. 

11 Teresa Paxza." 



To think that the affairs of this life are always to 
remain in the same state is an erroneous fancy. The 
face of things rather seems continually to change and 
roll with circular motion : summer succeeds the spring, 
autumn the summer, winter the autumn, and then 
spring again. So time proceeds in this perpetual round; 
only the life of man U ever hastening to its end. swifter 
than time itself, without hopes to be renewed, unless in 
the next, that is unlimited and infinite. For even by 
the light of nature and without that of faith, many have 
discovered the swiftuess and instability of this present 
being, and the duration of the eternal life which is 
expected. 



264 WIT AND H 

••I know St. Peter Is well :.: Rome 7 ,J meaning r"trv 

one does well to follow the employing 
bred. 

Let no one stretch his feel length of his 

sheet. 

When thou art In Rome folio v.- lions of Rome. 



Sweet is our love of native land. 



The prudent man who is expec be deprived cf 

his habitation looks ou: foi another before he is ti 
out of dc : 

Well-got wealth may meet disaster, 
But ill-got wealth desti >ys its masl 



Bread is relief for all kind of grief. 



We can bear with patience the ill-luck that comes 
alone. 

Man projects in vain. 
For God doth still ordain. 



As is the reasc 
Such is the season. 



Let no man presume to think 
Of this cup I will not drink. 
Where the flitch we hope to find, 
Not even a hook is left behind. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 265 

Keep a safe conscience, and let people say what they 
will. 

It is as impracticable to tie up the tongue of malice 
as to erect barricades in the open fields. 



u If a governor resigns his office in good circum- 
stances, people say he must have been an oppressor 
and a knave ; and if poverty attends him in his retreat, 
they set him down as an idiot and fool." 

" For this time," answered Sancho, " I am certain 
they will think me more fool than knave." 



The great Sancho Panza, the flower and mirror of all 
island governors. 

A law neglected is the same as if it had never been 
enacted. 

Give always to the cat 
What was kept for the rat, 
And let it be thy view 
All mischief to eschew. 



It is fitting that all who receive a benefit should show 
themselves grateful, though it be only a trifle. 



SONG OF ALTISIDORA. 

Stay, cruel knight, 
Take not thy flight, 



266 WIT AND WISDOM 

£Tor spar thy battered jade ; 

Thy haste restrain, 

Draw in the rein, 
And hear a love-sick maid. 

Why dost thou fly ? 

aSo snake am I, 
That poison those I love. 

Gentle I am 

As any lamb, 
And harmless as a dove. 

Thy cruel scorn 

Has left forlorn 
A nymph whose charms may vie 

With theirs who sport 

In Cynthia's court, 
Though Venus' self were by. 
Since, fugitive knight, to no purpose I woo thee, 
Barabbas's fate still pursue and undo thee ! 

Like ravenous kite 

That takes its flight 
Soon as *t has stol'n a chicken, 

Thou bear'st away 

My heart, thy prey, 
And leav'st me here to sicken. 

Three night-caps, too, 

And garters blue, 
That did to legs belong 

Smooth to the sight 

As marble white, 
And faith, almost as strong. 



UF BOX QUIXOTE. 267 

Two thousand groans, 
As many moj 
And sighs enough to fire 
Old Priam's town. 
And burn it down. 
Did it again aspire. 
Since, fugitive knight, to no purpose I woo thee, 
Barabbas's fate still pursue and undo thrr ! 

May Sancho ne'er 

His buttocks bare 
Fly-flap, as is his duty ; 

And thou still want 

To disenchant 
Dulcinea's injured beauty. 

May still transformed. 

And still deformed. 
Toboso's nymph remain. 

In recompense 

Of thy offen 
Thy scorn and cold disdain. 

When thou dost wield 

Thy sword in field, 
In combat, or in quarrel, 

Ill-luck and harms 

Attend thy arms. 
Instead of fame and laurel. 
Since, fugitive knight, to no purpose T woo thee. 
Barabbas's fate still pursue and undo thee ! 

May thy disgrace 

Fill every pi: 



WIT AND WISDOM 

Thy falsehood ne'er be hid, 

But round the -world 

Bo tossed and hurled, 
From Seville to Madrid. 

If, brisk and gay, 

Thou sitt'st to play 
At ombre or at chess, 

May ne'er spadillo 

Attend thy will, 
"Not luck thy movements bless. 

Though thou with care 

Thy corns dost pare, 
May blood the penknife folio w T ; ♦ 

May thy gums rage, 

And naught assuage 
The pain of tooth that 's hollow. 
Since, fugitive knight, to no purpose I woo thee, 
Barabbas's fate still pursue and undo thee ! 



Liberty is one of the most precious gifts -which 
Heaven hath bestowed on man, exceeding all the treas- 
ures which earth encloses, or which ocean hides ; and 
for this blessing, as well as for honor, we may and 
ought to venture life itself. On the other hand, cap- 
tivity and restraint are the greatest evils that human 
nature can endure. I make this observation, Sancho, 
because thou hast seen the delicacies and the plenty 
with which we were entertained in that castle ; yet, in 
the midst of those savory banquets and ice-cooled pota- 
tions, I thought myself confined within the very straits 
of famine, because I did not enjoy the treat with 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 269 

that liberty which I should have felt had it been my 
own. 

Obligations incurred by benefits and favors received 
are fetters which hamper the free-born soul. 

Happy is he to whom Heaven hath sent a morsel of 
bread, for which he is obliged to none but Heaven 
itself. 

The man in wisdom must be old 
Who knows in giving where to hold. 



All times are not the same, nor equally fortunate ; 
and those incidents which the vulgar call omens, though 
not founded on any natural reason, have, even by per- 
sons of sagacity, been held and deemed as fair and 
fortunate. One of these superstitious omen-mongers 
rises in the> morning, goes abroad, chances to meet a 
friar belonging to the beatified St. Francis ; and as if 
he had encountered a dragon in his way, runs back 
to his own house with fear and consternation. An- 
other Foresight by accident scatters the salt upon the 
table, by which fear and- melancholy are scattered 
through his heart ; as if Mature was obliged to fore- 
tell future misfortunes by such trivial signs and tokens; 
whereas a prudent man and a good Christian will not 
so minutely scrutinize the purposes of Heaven. Scipio, 
chancing to fall in landing upon the coast of Afric, and 
perceiving that his soldiers looked upon this accident as 
a bad omen, he embraced the soil with seeming eager- 



270 WIT AXD WISDOM 

ness, saying, " Thou shalt not 'scape me. Afric. for I 
have thee safe in mv arms." 



Love has no respect of persons, and laughs at the 
admonitions of reason : like Death, he pursues his 
game both in the stately palaces of kings and the 
humble huts of shepherds. When he has got a soul 
fairly in his clutches, his first business is to deprive it 
of all shame and fear. 



Beauty, they say, is the chief thing in love-matters. 



•• Hearken to me, Sancho." said Don Quixote; -there 
are two kinds of beauty. — tie one of the mind, the 
other yt the body. That of the mind shines forth in 
good sense and good conduct, in modesty, liber 
and courtesy : and all these qualities may be found in 
one who has no personal attractions : and when that 
species of beauty captivates, it produces a vehement 
and superior passion. I well know, Sancho. that I am 
not handsome, but I know also that I am not deformed ; 
and a man of worth, if he be not hideous, may inspire 
love, provided he has those qualities of the mind which 
I have mentione .". 

Of all the sins that men commit, though some 
pride, in my opinion ingratitude is the It is 

truly said that hell is full of the ungrateful. I 
that foul crime I have endeavored to abstain ever since 
I enjoyed the ason : and if I cannot return the 

good offices done me by equal benefit-. I substitute my 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 271 

desire to repay them : and if this be nor enough. I pub- 
lish them : for he who proclaims the favors he has 
received would return them if he could. And gener- 
ally the power of the receiver is unequal to that of the 
giver, like the bounty of Heaven, to which no man can 
make an equal return. But. though utterly unable to 
repay the unspeakable beneficence of God. gratitude 
affords an humble compensation suited to our limited 
powers. 

Lav a bridge of silver for a flying enemy. 



Let Martha die. so that she be well fed. 



He that has skill should handle the quill. 



There is no greater folly than to give wav to despair. 



Patience often falls to the ground when it is over- 
loaded with injuries. 

Alexander the Great ventured to cut the Gordian 

knot, on the supposition that cutting would be as effec- 
tual as untying it. and. notwithstanding this violence, 
became sole master of all Asia. 



11 Be not concerned.' ' said Roqoe, addressing himself 
to Den Quixote, "nor tax Fortune with unkindness. 
By thus stumbling, you may chance to stand more 
firmlv than ever: for Heaven, bv strange and circuit- 



272 WIT AND WISDOM 

cms ways, incomprehensible to men, is wont to raise 
the fallen and enrich the needy." 



Oh, maddening sting of jealousy, how deadly thy 

effects ! 

Justice must needs be a good thing, for it is neces- 
sary eyen among thieyes. 



" Signor Roque," said he. " the beginning of a cure 
consists in the knowledge of the distemper and in the 
patient's willingness to take the medicines prescribed ' 
to him by his physician. You are sick : you know 
your malady, and God, oar physician, is ready with 
medicines that, in time, will certainly effect a cure. 
Besides, sinners of good understanding are nearer to 
amendment than those who are deyoid of it ; and, as 
your superior sense is manifest be of good cheer and 
hope for your entire recovery. If in this desirable work 
you would take the shortest way and at once enter that 
of your salvation, come with me and 1 will teach you 
to be a knight-errant, — a profession, it is true, full of 
labors and disasters, but which, being placed to the 
account of penance, will not fail to lead you to honor 
and felicity.*' 

The abbot must eat that sings for his meat. • 



Courtesy begets courtesy. 



The jest that gives pain is no jest. 



OF DOX QUIXOTE. 273 

That pastime should not be indulged which tends to 
the detriment of a fellow-creature. 



The fire is discovered by its own light ; so is virtue 
by its own excellence. 

No renown equals in splendor that which is acquired 
by the profession of arms. 



Virtue demands our homage wherever it is found. 



"Women are commonly impatient and inquisitive. 



By a man's actions may be seen the true disposition 
of his mind. 

" Body of me," said Don Quixote, " what a progress 
you have made, signor, in the Tuscan language ! I 
would venture a good wager that where the Tuscan 
says place, you say, in Castilian, plaze ; and where he 
says piu, you say mas; and su you translate by the word 
arriha; and giu by abaxo." 

" I do so, most certainly/' quoth the author, "for 
such are the corresponding words." 

"And yet, I dare say, sir," quoth Don Quixote, 
" that you are scarcely known in the world, — but it 
is the fate of all ingenious men. What abilities are 
lost, what genius obscured, and what talents despised ! 
Nevertheless, I cannot but think that translation from 
one language into another, unless it be from the noblest 
of all languages, Greek and Latin, is like presenting 

13 



•271 WIT AND WISDOM 

the back of a piece jf tapestry, where though the fig- 
ures are seen, they are obscured by innumerable knots 

and ends of thread, very different from the smc rth and 
agreeable texture :: thepropei face : the work; and 
tc trans] te easy languages :: :. -imilar co:: c traction 
requires no more talent than transcribing one. paper 
from anothei But I wc Id not hence infer that trans- 
lating is not a laudable exercise for a man may be 
worse and more un profitably employed. Nor can my 
observation apply tc the two celebrated translators, 
I l :;::r Christopher de Figueroa, in his ' ? istoi Fi k 
and Don John de Xaurigui, in his * Ami:. 
; : ag il :; felicity hare made it dimer^: tc ieeide y 
is the translation and original But teU 

me. signor. is this book printe your charge, or have 

you sold the : jpyi ight to some 

11 1 print aswei ed the 

author, ,; and expect a thousand d. icats this first 

impression of two thousand six reals each 

will _ : ::t in a t: 

•• 'T:- mighty well," quoth Don Quix :r 
I fear you know but little of the tricks of booksellers, 
and the juggling the - is amongst them. Take my 
word ~for it, you will find a burden of two thousand 
volumes upon your back no trifling matt 
if the book be lefi rient in sj i ightlin 

•• V,' he rathe 

give my labor to a t ikseller, who. ii me three 

maravedis foi it, dd think it abundant, and e 
was favc redl Nc sdi . fame is not ..." object id 
I am already secure. Profi: is what I now seek, with- 
rhieh fame is nothii 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 275 

11 Well, Heaven prosper you. sir ! " said the knight. 
who. passing on. observed a man correcting a s heet :: 
a book entitled •• The Light of the Soul.'' On seeing 
the title, he sail. •• Books of this kind, numerous as 
they already are. ought still to be encouraged : for 
numerous are the benighted sinners that require to be 
enlightened." He went forward, and saw another book 
under the corrector's hand, and. on inquiring the title, 
they told him it was the second part of the ingenious 
gentleman Don Quixote de la Mancha, written by such 
a one. of Tordesilb 3. 

11 I know something of that book." quoth Don Quix- 
ote, "and, mi my conscience. I thought it had been 
burnt long before now for its stupidity : but its Mar- 
tinmas will come, as it does to every hog. Works of 
invention are only so far good as they come near to 
truth and probability : as general history is valuable in 
proportion as it is authentic." 



Rashness is not valor ; doubtful hopes ought to make 
men resolute, not rash. 



There is a remedy for all things except death. 



Between said and done 
A long race mav be run. 



He whom Heaven favors mav St. Peter bless. 



Th^y that give must take. 



276 WIT AND WISDOM 

•Where there are hooks, we do not always find bacon. 



Good expectation is better than bad possession. 



To-day for you, and to-morrow for me. 



He that falls to-day may rise to-morrow. 



Great hearts should be patient under misfortunes, as 
well as joyful when all goes well. 



I have heard say, she they call Fortune is a drunken, 
freakish dame, and withal so blind that she does not 
see what she is about ; neither whom she raises, nor 
whom she pulls down. 

One thing I must tell thee, there is no such thing in 
the world as fortune ; nor do the events w T bich fall out, 
whether good or evil, proceed from chance, but from 
the particular appointment of Heaven, — and hence 
comes the usual saying, that every man is the maker 
of his ow 7 n fortune. 

The faults of the ass should not be laid on the pack- 
saddle. 

When it rains let the shower fall upon my cloak. 



'•Observe, Sancho, 9 ' said Don Quixote, " there is 
a great deal of difference between love and gratitude. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 277 

It is very possible for a gentleman not to be in love ; 
but, strictly speaking, it is impossible he should be 
ungrateful." 

The sin will cease when the temptation is removed. 



The heart will not grieve for what the eye doth not 
perceive. 

What prayers can ne'er gain, a leap from a hedge 
may obtain. 

Proverbs are short maxims of human wisdom, the 
result of experience and observation, and are the gifts 
of ancient sages ; yet the proverb which is not aptly 
applied, instead of being wisdom, is stark nonsense. 



It is the part of a good servant to sympathize with 
his master's pains. 

11 Methinks," quoth Sancho, " that a man cannot be 
suffering much when he can turn his brain to verse- 
making." 

SANCHO PANZA ON SLEEP. 

" No entiendo eso," replied Sancho ; "solo entiendo 
que en tanto que duermo, ni tengo temor, ni esperanza, 
ni trabajo, ni gloria ; y bien hay a el que inventd el 
sueno, capa que cubre todos los humanos pensamientos, 
manjarque quita la hambre, agua que ahuyenta la sed, 
fuego que calienta el frio, frio que tenipla el ardor, y 
finalmente moneda general con que todas las cosas se 



278 WJT AXD WISDOM 

compran, balanza y peso que iguala al pastor con el rev, 
y al simple con el discrete Sola una cosa tiene mala 
el sueno, segun he oido decir, y es que se parece a la 
muerte, pues de un dormido a un muerto hay muy poca 
diferencia." 

44 1 know not what that means, " replied Sancho : "I 
only know that while I am asleep I have neither fear, 
nor hope, nor trouble, nor glory. Blessings light on 
him who first invented sleep ! Sleep is the mantle that 
shrouds all human thoughts ; the food that dispels hun- 
ger; the drink that quenches thirst; the fire that warms 
the cold ; the cool breeze that moderates heat ; in a 
word, the general coin that purchases every commod- 
ity ; the weight and balance that makes the shepherd 
even with his sovereign, and the simple with the sage. 
There is only one bad circumstance, as I have heard, 
in sleep: it resembles death, inasmuch as between a 
dead corse and a sleeping man there is no apparent 
difference." 

" Enjoy thy repose," said Don Quixote ; " thou wast 
born to sleep and I to watch ; and, during the little of 
night that remains, I will give my thoughts the rein, 
and cool the furnace of my reflections with a short 
madrigal, which I have this evening, unknown to thee, 
composed in my own mind." 



Amor, cuando yo pienso 
En el mal que me das terrible y fuerte, 
Yoy corriendo a la muerte, 
Pensando asi acabar mi mal inmenso : 



OF BOX QUIXOTE. 279 

Mas en llegando al paso, 
Que es puerto en este mar de mi tormento, 
Tanta alegria siento, 
Que la vida se esfuerza, y no le paso. 

Asi el vivir me mata, 
Que la muerte me torna a dar la vida. 
O condicion no oida, 
La que eonmigo muerte y vida trata ! 



O love ! when, sick of heart-felt grief, 
I sigh, and drag thy cruel chain, 

To death I fly, the sure relief 

Of those who groan in lingering pain. 

But coming to the fatal gates, 
The port in this my sea of woe, 

The joy I feel new life creates, 
And bids my spirits brisker flow. 

Thus dying every hour I live, 
And living I resign my breath. 

Strange power of love, that thus can give 
A dying life and living death ! 



Till Heaven, in pity to the weeping world, 

Shall give Altisidora back to day. 
By Quixote's scorn to realms of Pluto hurled, 

Her every charm to cruel death a prey ; 

While matrons throw their gorgeous robes away, 



280 WIT AND WISDOM 

To mourn a nymph by cold disdaiu betrayed : 

To the complaining lyre's enchanting lay 
I '11 sing the praises of this hapless maid, 
In sweeter notes than Thracian Orpheus ever played. 

Nor shall my numbers with my life expire, 

Or this world's light confine the boundless song : 
To thee, bright maid, in death I ; 11 touch the lyre, 

And to my soul the theme shall still belong. 

When, freed from clay, the flitting ghosts among, 
My spirit glides the Stygian shores around. 

Though the cold hand of death has sealed my tongue, 
Thy praise the infernal caverns shall rebound. 
And Lethe's sluggish waves move slower to the sound. 



Better kill me outright than break "my back with 
other men's burdens. 

Sleep is the best cure for waking troubles. 



Devils, play or not play, win or not win, can never 
be content. 

History that is good, faithful, and true, will survive 
for ages ; but should it have none of these qualities, its 
passage will be short between the cradle and the grave. 



As for dying for love, it is all a jest ; your lovers, 
indeed, may easily say they are dying, but that they 
will actually give up the ghost, believe it — Judas. 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 281 

" Madam," said he, " your ladyship should know 
that the chief cause of this good damsel's suffering 
is idleness, the remedy whereof is honest and constant 
employment. Lace, she tells me, is much worn in 
purgatory, aud since she cannot but know how to make 
it, let her stick to that ; for, while her fingers are as- 
siduously employed with her bobbins, the images that 
now haunt her imagination will keep aloof, and leave 
her mind tranquil and happy. This, madam, is my 
opinion and advice." 

u And mine, too," added Sancho, "for I never in 
my life heard of a lacemaker that died for love ; for 
your damsels that bestir themselves at some honest 
labor think more of their work than of their sweet- 
hearts. I know it by myself ; when I am digging, I 
never think of my Teresa, though, God bless her ! I 
love her more than my very eyelids." 



Railing among lovers is the next neighbor to forgive- 
ness. 



The ass will carry the load, but not a double load. 



When money ? s paid before it 's due, 
A broken limb will straight ensue. 



Delay breeds danger. 



Pray to God devoutly, 
And hammer awav stoutly. 



282 WIT AND WISDOM 

A sparrow in the hand is worth an -.uo ;:. :hr or:. 



•■ Xo more proverbs. ::r God's soke." cttcth P::: 
Quixote, "for, rnethinks. Saueho. thou art losing 
ground, and returning tc sicui erat. Speak plai 
as I have often told thee, and thou wilt find it v 
a loaf per cent to thee." 

'* I know not how I came by this unlucky trick." 
replied Sancho ; "I cannot bring you in three w 
to the purpose without noi give you a pro- 

verb which, to ray thinking, is not orpose : — 

but I will try to mend." 



The straw is too hard to m es of. 



The knight and squire ascended ; ;minence, 

whence they discovered their * r, Sancho 

no sooner beheld than, kneeling down, he said : •* Open 
thine eyes. O my beloved country ! and behold thy son, 
Sancho Panza. returning to thee again, if not rich, yet 
well whipped ! Open thine arms, and receii 
Don Quixote, too ! who, though worsted by another, 
has conquered himself, which, as I have - y. is 

the best kind of victory! Money I have gotten 
though I have been soundly banged, I have come :ri 
like a gentlema 

; - Leave these fooleries. Sancho." quoth Don Quiz 
,( and let us go directly to our homes, 
give full scope to our imagination, and settle our in- 
tended scheme of a pas 



OF DON QUIXOTE, 283 

It must here be mentioned that Sancho Panza, by 
way of sumpter-cloth, had thrown the buckram robe 
painted with flames, which he had worn on the night 
of Altisidora's revival, upon his ass. He likewise clapped 
the mitre on Dapple's head, — in short, never was an 
ass so honored and bedizened. The priest and bachelor, 
immediately recognizing their friends, ran toward them 
with open arms. Don Quixote alighted, and embraced 
them cordially. In the mean time, the boys, whose keen 
eyes nothing can escape, came flocking from all parts. 

" Ho ! " cries one, " here comes Sancho Panza's ass, 
as gay as a parrot, and Don Quixote's old horse, leaner 
than ever ! " 

Thus, surrounded by the children and accompanied by 
the priest and the bachelor, they proceeded through the 
village till they arrived at Don Quixote's house, where, 
at the door, they found the housekeeper and the niece, 
who had already heard of his arrival. It had likewise 
reached the ears of Sancho's wife, Teresa, who, half- 
naked, with her hair about her ears, and dragging San- 
chica after her, ran to meet her husband ; and seeing 
him not so well equipped as she thought a governor 
ought to be, she said : " What makes you come thus, 
dear husband? methinks you come afoot and foun- 
dered ! This, I trow, is not as a governor should 
look." 

" Peace, wife," quoth Sancho ; " the bacon is not so 
easily found as the pin to hang it on. Let us go home, 
and there you shall hear wonders. I have got money, 
and honestly, too, without wronging anybody." 

" Hast thou got money, good husband? Nay, then, 



2M WIT AND WISDOM 

'tis well, however it be gotten . for. well or ill, it will 
have brought up no new custom in the world." 



All things human, especially the lives of men, are 
transitory, ever advancing from their beginning to their 
decline and final determination. 



" The greatest folly," said Sancho, i; that a man can 

commit in this world, is to give himself up to death 
without any good cause for it. but only from melan- 
choly." 

THE WILL OF DON QUIXOTE. 

11 I feel, good sirs,*' said Don Quixote. " that death 
advances fast upon me. Let us then be serious, and 
bring me a confessor, and a notary to draw up rny will, 
for a man in my state must not trifle with his soul. 
the notary be sent for. I beseech you. while my 
friend here, the priest, is taking my confession." 

The priest, having listened to his dying friend's con- 
fession, came out of the room and told them that the good 
Alouzo Quixano was near his end. and certainly in his 
right senses : he therefore advised them to go in. as it 
was full time that his will "should be made. These 
tidings gave a terrible stab to the overcharged hearts 
of the two ladies and his faithful squire, whose eyes 
overflowed with weeping, and whose bosoms had well- 
nigh burst with a thousand sighs and groans : for. in- 
deed, it must be owned, as we have somewhere observed, 
that whether in the character of Alonzo Quixano the 
Good, or in the capacity of Don Quixote de la Mancha, 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 285 

the poor gentleman had always exhibited marks of a 
peaceable temper and agreeable demeanor, for which 
he was beloved, not only by his own family, but also 
by all those who had the pleasure of his acquaintance. 

The notary entering the apartment with the rest of 
the company, wrote the preamble of the will, in which 
Don Quixote disposed of his soul in all the necessary 
Christian forms ; then proceeding to the legacies, he 
said : — ■ 

" Item: whereas, Sancho Panza, whom, in my mad- 
ness, I made my squire, has in his hands a certain sum 
of money for my use ; and, as divers accounts, disburse- 
ments, and pecuniary transactions have passed between 
us, it is my will that he shall not be charged or brought 
to account for the said money; but, if there be any 
overplus after he has deducted the payment of what I 
owe him, the said overplus, which must be a mere trifle, 
shall be his own, and much good may it do him ; and 
as, during my disorder, I contributed to his being made 
governor of an island, I would now, while I enjoy my 
perfect senses, confer upon him, were it in my power, 
a whole kingdom, which he richly deserves for the 
innocency of his heart and the fidelity of his service." 

Then turning to the disconsolate squire, tl Forgive 
me, friend," said he, "for having been the cause of 
thy appearing in the eye of the world a madman like 
myself, by drawing thee into my erroneous notions 
concerning the existence and adventures of knights- 
errant." 

" Gentlemen," said Don Quixote, "let us proceed 
fair and softly. I was mad, I am now sane ; I was 



286 WIT AND WISDOM 

Don Quixote de la Mancha ; I am now, as formerly 
styled, Alonzo Quixano the Good. And may my re- 
pentance and sincerity restore me to the esteem you 
once had for me. ]S T ow let the notary proceed. 

"Item: I bequeath to Antonia Quixano, my niece, 
here present, all my estate, real and personal, after the 
payment of all my debts and legacies ; and the first to 
be discharged shall be the wages due to my housekeeper 
for the time she has been in my service, and twenty 
ducats besides for a suit of mourning. 

"I appoint for my executors signor the priest and 
signor bachelor Sampson Carrasco, here present. 

" Item: It is also my will that, if Antonia Quixano, 
my niece, should be inclined to marry, it shall be only 
with a man who, upon the strictest inquiry, shall be 
found to know nothing of books of chivalry ; and, in 
case it appear that he is acquainted with such books, 
and that my niece, notwithstanding, will and doth marry 
him, then shall she forfeit all I have bequeathed her, 
which my executors may dispose of in pious uses as 
they think proper. 

" And, finally, I beseech the said gentlemen, my 
executors, that if haply they should come to the knowl- 
edge of the author of a certain history dispersed abroad, 
entitled, ' The Second Part of the Achievements of Don 
Quixote de la Mancha,' that they will, in my name, 
most earnestly entreat him to forgive me for having 
been the innocent cause of his writing such a number 
of absurdities as that performance contains ; for I quit 
this life with some scruples of conscience arising from 
that consideration." 



OF DON QUIXOTE. 287 

The will being thus concluded, he was seized with a 
fainting-fit, and stretched himself at full length in the 
bed, so that all the company were alarmed and ran to 
his assistance. During three days which he lived after 
the will was signed and sealed, he frequently fainted, 
and the whole family was in confusion. Nevertheless, 
the niece ate her victuals, the housekeeper drank to the 
repose of his soul, and even Sancho cherished his little 
carcass ; for the prospect of succession either dispels or 
moderates that affliction which ah heir ought to feel at 
the death of the testator. 

At last Don Quixote expired, after having received 
all the sacraments, and in the strongest terms, patheti- 
cally enforced, expressed his abomination against all 
books of chivalry ; and the notary observed, that in 
all the books of that kind which he had perused, he 
had never read of any knight-errant who died quietly 
in his bed as a good Christian, like Don Quixote ; who, 
amidst the tears and lamentations of all present, gave 
up the ghost, or, in other words, departed this life. 
The curate was no sooner certified of his decease, than 
he desired the notary to make out a testimonial, declar- 
ing that Alonzo Quixano the Good, commonly called 
Don Quixote de la Mancha, had taken his departure 
from this life, aud died of a natural death ; that no 
other author, different from Cid Hamet Benengeli, 
should falsely pretend to raise him from the dead, and 
write endless histories of his achievements. 

This was the end of that extraordinary gentleman of 
La Mancha, whose birthplace Cid Hamet was careful 



2S8 TV IT AND WISDOM OF BOX QUIXOTE. 

to conceal, that all the towns and villages of that prov- 
ince might contend for the honor of having produced 
him. as did the seven cities of Greece for the glory of 
giving birth to Homer. The lamentations of Sancho, 
the niece and the housekeeper, are not here given, nor 
the new epitaphs on the tomb of the deceased knight, 
except the following one, composed by Sampson Car* 
rasco : — 

Here lies the valiant cavalier. 
Who never had a sense of fear : 
So high his matchless courage rose. 
He reckoned death among his vanquished foes. 

Wrongs to redress, his sword he drew. 
And many a caitiff giant slew : 
His days of life though madness stained, 
In death his sober senses he regained. 



University Tress : John Wilson and Sou, Cambridge. 



